


Heart of the Mountain

by ClaraKeanen



Series: Unexpected-verse [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Erebor, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Family, M/M, Rebuilding, Rebuilding Erebor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-01-23 19:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraKeanen/pseuds/ClaraKeanen
Summary: It's been almost three years since Arya Callahan was ripped away from Middle-Earth, and she's done her best to move on with her life. But while she may have moved on, the world she left behind has not, and now she's it's only chance for lasting peace - and for healing the heart of the King Under the Mountain.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Bilbo Baggins/Dwalin, Bofur/Nori (Tolkien), Celebrían/Elrond Peredhel, Elrond Peredhel/Original Female Character(s), Fíli (Tolkien)/Sigrid (Hobbit Movies), Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf, Kíli/Original Male Character, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Thorin Oakenshield/Original Female Character(s), Thranduil/Original Female Character, Thranduil/Thranduil's Wife
Series: Unexpected-verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1347559
Comments: 67
Kudos: 253





	1. There

“Now, Dr. Peterson will be in in just a bit to go over your test results, so try not to be  _ too _ hard on him, okay John?”

The middle-aged man lying on the hospital bed laughed, winking at his son who sat next to him. “I make no promises, nurse.”

Arya  smiled  back at him. “You take care of  yourself, you hear? I don’t want to see you back here for a very long time.”

“Will do!”

“Good. It was lovely to meet you, Sam.”

“You too. Thank you, nurse,” his son replied, nodding gratefully in Arya’s direction.

“Don’t mention it.” Arya shot the pair a final wave before exiting the room, shuffling her stack of files around in her arms. The pristine hallway was bustling with visitors and hospital staff, and Arya  nodded a greeting at every pair of eyes she met as she made her way back to the nurse’s station.

“Arya! Good, I’m glad I caught you.” Mark, one of the  PICU nurses , snagged her by the arm as she rounded the corner. “You get off soon, right?”

“Yeah, my shift’s over in fifteen minutes. I just finished up my rounds.”

“Great.  Charlie ’s being discharged in a few -”

“O h my God, I have to go!” Arya all but threw her folders on the to-be-shelved cart, wrenched open her hidden locker and grabbed her oversized purse. “Andrea -”

“I’ll page you if Rob asks, but he shouldn’t need you for anything. Kayla will be in in a few minutes,” the head nurse seated behind the desk nodded decisively. “Go. Mark, since I’ve got you here -”

Mark squeezed Arya’s arm and nodded. Arya shot them both a quick grin and turned, walking briskly down the corridor towards the PICU elevator. Charlie was one of the few child cancer patients in the hospital, and due to her aggressive chemotherapy treatment slept at odd hours of the day and night. That's how they’d met, when Arya had picked up a night shift covering the OBGYN/PICU ward. The young girl had been having a particularly rough night, and so Arya stayed with her through most of her shift, talking about everything and anything that came to mind. Charlie was lonely, she could tell, and Arya – well, Arya was a bit lonely too, these days. A nd so, after that first meeting, Arya could be found staying late at the end of every shift, stopping by to check in on Charlie. Miraculously, the young girl had gone into remission, and as it was her last day at the university hospital, Arya had put together a small gift for her as a going away present.

Arya exited the elevator into the brightly-painted children’s ward and stepped past a few kids who were running in and out of the toy room, to the hassled frustration of their parents. She ducked around the corner and knocked outside the familiar green door. “Hello?”

“Arya!” Seven-year-old Charlie kicked her legs off the edge of the bed and ran towards her, wrapping her arms around Arya’s waist.  Laughing at Charlie’s enthusiasm , Arya hugged her back and glanced up at her extended family.

“Hi there,” she nodded. Paul,  Charlie ’s father, smiled warmly back at her, tears in his own eyes.

“Mom, Dad, this is Nurse Arya. She’s been a real friend to  Charlie here.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” his father said, holding out his hand. “Steve Johnson.”

“Arya Callahan,” she replied, releasing one of her arms from around  Charlie and shaking his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You have an incredible granddaughter.”

“Yes, we think so,” the elderly woman standing next to him replied with a smile.

“ Charlie was worried you weren’t going to make it,” Kate,  Charlie ’s mom, said to Arya with a watery smile.

“Are you kidding?” Arya looked down at Charlie and shot the girl her  happiest grin . “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” She pulled herself gently out of Charlie’s embrace and fell into a crouch. “I have a little present for you.”

Charlie gasped. “Really?”

“Really,” Arya  beamed back. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small box, wrapped in light pink wrapping paper. “Here you go.”

Charlie turned to look at her parents, who motioned for her to open the package. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

The young girl turned back to Arya, and with a final glance to see if it was  _ truly  _ okay, tore into the wrapping paper. Pieces of pink paper floated onto the ground, and the adults in the room chuckled at  Charlie ’s voracious determination. The paper finally taken care of, she lifted the lid off of the small box and gasped.

“What is it,  Charlie ?”

Slowly, she lifted the delicate silver chain out of the box. It was a necklace, and hanging off the necklace were two charms, a blue flower and a small token with a rune carved into it. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Arya smiled softly at her. “The rune is what Gandalf carved on Bilbo’s door. Do you remember that from the story?”

Charlie looked up at her, nodding in awe. “Yes.”

“Awesome. And, the blue flower is a forget-me-not, so you have something to remember me by,” Arya finished.  Charlie glanced down at the necklace, and with tears in her eyes, threw her arms back around Arya. Arya caught her in her arms and hugged her tightly, conscious of Kate’s sniffles at the sight, and of Paul snapping a few pictures on his phone.

“You’re my  bestest friend,”  Charlie sobbed into her shoulder. “I’m going to miss you.”

Arya s miled at Charlie’s shoulder, her own eyes welling up in tears . “I’ll miss you too, Charlie. But I’ll be happy to know that my best friend is off on her own adventures, just like Bilbo.”

“Speaking of,” Paul interrupted gently, “ Charlie , isn’t there something you need to return?”

Nodding,  Charlie pulled back from Arya and rubbed at her eyes. Paul handed her the worn book, and  Charlie handed it towards Arya. “Here you go.”

The soft green cover of her grandfather’s copy of  _ The Hobbit  _ filled her vision. She forced down a wave of melancholy and looked away from it, back up at  Charlie . “Actually, that’s the other part of my gift,” Arya said, folding  Charlie ’s hand back over the book and pushing it towards her.

“But,”  Charlie frowned, “it’s your book.”

“I want you to keep it,” Arya replied, forcing herself to smile. “You love it so much, and I don’t think I’d ever want to read it without you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

A knock sounded on the door behind them. “Pardon the interruption, but we’re ready to go over the final discharge information.” Arya turned around and found  Charlie ’s doctor smiling down at the pair.

“Well, that’s my cue.” Reaching forward, Arya hugged  Charlie one last time before standing up. “Take care, okay?”

Kate stepped forward and took hold of  Charlie ’s hand, gently pulling her back from Arya. “We will.”

Arya took in the scene, and with a final smiling nod towards  Charlie , who was instructing her father to clasp the necklace around her neck, she left, before her own tears could overwhelm her too much.

////////////

“She loved the necklace.” Arya blew into her piping hot teacup, watching as her downstairs neighbor, Eleanor Harrison, bustled around her small kitchen. One of Eleanor’s cats, a  Siberian named  Binx , laid lazily across Arya’s lap, and she scratched  Binx’s belly in time with the cat’s purrs.

“I knew she would,” Eleanor replied, carrying a small tray of cookies back towards Arya and setting it on the table. “It was the perfect gift, if I do say so myself.”

“Seriously, I can’t thank you enough for the idea -”

“Oh,  stop it , I’m happy to help. Besides, Judy’s granddaughter needs all the business she can get. I’ll never understand the point of selling jewelry online, but perhaps it’s just because I’m set in my ways.” Eleanor sat down across from Arya and watched as she took a bite of an oatmeal-raisin cookie. “I mean it, though, I am glad to help. Especially since – well, I’m just proud with how far you’ve come. Two years this weekend, isn’t it?”

Arya nodded, setting down the remainder of her cookie and taking a small sip of her elderflower tea. “Saturday.”

“You have the weekend off?”

She nodded again. “I have Monday and Tuesday off too.”

“Hmm,” Eleanor replied with huff. “Well, just try and do some things outside of your apartment, dear, even if it is just going to the grocery store.”

“I will, Ms. Harrison. I promise.”

////////////

Arya stepped out of her kitchen with a contented sigh. After spending an inordinate amount of time in a hot shower, she’d dressed in her favorite leggings, her comfiest bralette and cropped white sweater and brewed herself a second cup of Eleanor’s elderberry tea. It was getting to be that time of year when the winter chill started creeping into the late fall air, and she was grateful that Eleanor had been willing to order some extra stock with her latest Fortnum & Mason purchase.

She  sat down at her small dining room table with a sigh, setting the warm tea on a small tile coaster she’d purchased at a flea market. She ran her fingers through her still-damp hair, brushing it out of her face, before reaching for the small pile of mail she had collected from her mailbox downstairs.

“Junk, junk, bill, junk, bill,” Arya muttered to herself, flipping through the stack of envelopes and papers in her hand. “Insurance policy, bill, ad, trash notice -” she sighed. She had gotten into such a rhythm of sorting that when a strangely-wrapped envelope was found between two catalogs, she almost threw it in the junk pile. However, there was something so peculiar about the way it was wrapped that she dropped the few remaining pieces of mail and opened it up.

“These Ren Faire ads just keep getting stranger," she muttered, pulling out what looked like a small novel’s worth of parchment from the envelope. Flipping the small packet opened, she brushed her hair behind her ear and began to read.

** _ Mersday the 9 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Afteryule, in the year 2942 _ **

_ My Dear Arya, _

_ How could this have happened _

_ What in Eru’s name were you thinking _

_ This is the first moment I have had to myself since  _ _ you disappeared _ _ the Battle of the Five Armies three days ago. _

Arya’s eyes froze on the page, and her breaths grew shallow in her chest. Shaking her head, she set the pages down on the table and reached for her tea. “Nope, no, not happening,” she hummed to herself, gulping down the liquid in spite of its almost painful warmth. “It’s not here, it’s not real.”

Setting the now empty tea cup bag on her table, she glanced down at the table space in front of her. The letter was still there.

Hands shaking, she reached back down towards the parchment, raised it back towards her eyes, and with a disbelieving heart, she began to read.

** _ Mersday the 9 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Afteryule, in the year 2942 _ **

_ My Dear Arya, _

_ How could this have happened _

_ What in Eru’s name were you thinking _

_ This is the first moment I have had to myself since  _ _ you disappeared _ _ the Battle of the Five Armies three days ago. It all still feels like some horrible nightmare. I keep wishing that I will wake up and you will be there, seated beside my hearth and humming into your cup of tea, any thoughts of this blasted adventure nothing more than the fancies of an aging mind. No, no, I suppose I do not mean that. Too much has happened – and Dwalin,  _ _ my dear Dwalin, I could never give him up _ _ – well, you know. I think perhaps you always knew, in some way, just what this would entail.  _ _ I just don’t understand why  _ _ \--  _

_ Dwalin nabbed some parchment and ink from Ori and ordered me to write. I remain unsure as to who exactly gave him this idea – if it was Gandalf, or perhaps one of the elves – but he insisted I write to you, to try to face just what has occurred. But that, my dear, is precisely the problem. I cannot face it, the idea of a world without you. To know you are gone – and gone is what you are – is too much for me to bear, though Gandalf assures me you are in a safe place. Still, I can’t  _ _ bear it _ _ _ _ fathom how _ _ truly accept that you are  _ _ gone _ _ _ _ not here _ _ no longer with us, and so, for the sake of my own sanity, I will write to you as if you are merely visiting friends back home in the Shire and are anxiously awaiting updates regarding the wellbeing of those who remained in Erebor. Perhaps someday, when I can no longer feel blood underneath my fingernails or see the devastation in your eyes when I close mine, I will be able to accept, or at least understand that you are, in fact, gone. But I must tell you, my dear, I am not feeling rather optimistic about --  _

** _ Trewsday, the 10 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Afteryule, in the year 2942 _ **

_ Apologies, my dear. My missive was interrupted yesterday by Gandalf’s dramatic exit from the mountain. It took him three days of what he assured us was exhaustive labor to rid the treasure of the dragon’s curse. Some of Lord Dain’s men continue to bluster loudly, proclaiming that the curse was nothing more than the fantasies of an obsessive old man, but I think everyone here is able to feel the difference in the air. At the very least, the men seem more subdued, the dwarves are less rabid, and the elves’ anger has cooled into an icy disdain. To tell you the truth, I was worried that if Gandalf took any more time, the elves and dwarves would once again go to war. It is only from Bard’s tireless efforts that any semblance of peace has remained, and I myself feel worn out seeing the exhaustion carved under his eyes. Still, if the glares the Elvenking are sending towards Lord Dain are any indication, peace may still be too much to hope for. _

_ Thorin is _ _ – they are still asleep. Oin is frantic --  _

** _ Hevensday, the 11 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Afteryule, in the year 2942 _ **

_ I am not entirely certain how Gandalf and Bard managed it, but by time the sun rose over the mountain, the armies of elves had disappeared back into the forest. When I asked Gandalf what had occurred in their meeting, his reply was to grumble something about earning a well-deserved rest before disappearing off into his tent. According to Haemir, Bard’s second-in-command, their new king said something similar before seeing to his family.  _

_ When the dwarves’ realized the elves had departed, the remaining anger in the air all but disappeared, and was replaced with a sense of melancholic loss. It is not fair to you, my dear, but I was fearing this moment of awakening for the Company.  _ _ I can almost feel their shame myself _ _ _

_ They are beside themselves, Arya. Ori spent most of the morning in tears, as did Oin. Nori and Gloin express their pain through anger, and Dori has been desperately trying to keep them in line with little success. Balin is little better, and for all I love my Dwalin, he is hardly sympathetic towards the rest of the Company, not even to his brother. Bifur and Bombur are subdued, too, but Bofur appears to be suffering the most.  _ _ And with good reason. _

_ I still can’t believe _

_ How could he have done such a thing _

_ I swear, I wanted to kill him myself _

_ He has all but shut himself away from the rest of the Company. I’d be impressed at how well he’s managed it if I wasn’t furious with him myself. As no one has yet ventured into the mountain –  _ _ the dwarves are awaiting their king _ _ – he has sequestered himself within his small tent, refusing to speak with anyone, or eat anything, or even sleep. Bombur and Bifur have spent most of their time trying to draw him out, even going so far as to keep him under constant watch, but it is to no avail. And though the darkest part of me wishes to see him punished for what he did to you, Arya, my dear, I almost cannot bear it. He has punished himself far more than anyone else ever could. I believe I will speak with Dwalin again about going to -- _

_ Fili! _

** _ Mersday, the 12 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Afteryule, 2942 _ **

_ Ori rushed in as I was writing to you last night with the news that Fili had finally woken up. I dropped my quill and ran after him, hence the large ink spot on the previous page. By the time Ori and I made it to his tent, the rest of the Company (minus Bofur) had assembled. Dain was in the midst of filling Fili in, rather loudly might I add, and if he was looking for validation, he didn’t find it from Fili.  _ _ I swear, Arya, it was like seeing Thorin’s soul looking out of Fili’s eye _ _ s  _

_ Oin and the rest of the healers kicked us out only a few minutes after he woke, saying that he needed his rest. I will say that I was able to sleep better last night, knowing that at least one of the Durins had passed beyond the shadow. And when I awoke this morning, it was to the news that Kili had woken up as well, although he is still sickly and fighting an infection from one of his wounds which is not your fault, my dear; Bolg had a rather nasty poison on his arrows.  _ _ Thorin killed him _ _ He was taken care of in the Battle. _

_ Thorin is still not awake. _

** _ Highday, the 13 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Afteryule, 2942 _ **

_ Under Fili’s orders, the surviving dwarves relocated back into the mountain. Most of the morning was spent setting up a makeshift infirmary, as well as temporary residences for the dwarves seeking sanctuary within Erebor. Dwalin and I readied a separate room for  _ _ Thorin _ _ the King next to his nephews. Dwalin has remained as his guard throughout his rest, though I can see the anger in his eyes every time he looks upon the King. I, myself, do not know what I will say to him when he wakes up. _

_ If he wakes up. _

** _ Trewsday, the 17 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Afteryule, 2942 _ **

_ He woke up today. _

_ I had sent Dwalin to our room to get a few hours’ rest, and had taken his place watching over the King. I brought some patchwork with me, and was working on mending one of Dwalin’s shirts when I heard his voice. _

_ I can’t even say what I felt _

_ I honestly thought he was going to die _

_ He asked about you, where you were. I told him you were gone. He didn’t say anything else after that. Not when I summoned Oin, who asked his usual questions. Not when Fili and Kili entered the room. And not even when Dwalin stormed in and shouted at him, working himself up into a rage the likes of which I’ve never seen.  _

_ He fell back asleep, a few hours ago, but he hasn’t said anything else.  _

_ I don’t know how to feel. _

** _ Hevensday, the 18 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Afteryule, 2942 _ **

_ Balin insisted that the King hold counsel today with his available advisors. Dwalin, Balin, Gloin, Fili, Kili, Dain, an elder named Torgar and a softspoken dwarf named Uldir joined the King in his healing chambers. For some reason, I was included as well; whether it is because the King values my advice, or because Balin believed Dwalin would attack him without my presence, I cannot say. Fili made most of the decisions in the King’s stead as to the division of labor, which portions of the kingdom would be cleaned first, which emissaries would be sent to escort those in exile home, as well as who was to ensure that Dale would receive their share – and that trade would be quickly, and fairly, established. Throughout all of the emergency proceedings, the King remained silent. It was only when Bofur begged audience with the King that he even so much as glanced towards the rest of us. And it was only when Bofur fell to his knees, begging the King to punish him for his misdeeds, did the King finally speak. Not only did he forbid Bofur from exiling himself, he ensured that Bofur was absolved of any guilt concerning his actions during the curse’s residency under the mountain, and would say nothing else. Kili and Gloin escorted a blubbering Bofur out of the chamber, and the rest of us were excused soon after.  _

** _ Highday, the 20 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Afteryule, 2942 _ **

_ The King has been deemed well enough to leave his chambers for short moments of time. Balin expressed hopes that he would visit the dwarves at work in the mines; he returned to your chambers instead.  _ _ Dwalin _ _ said he spent almost the full hour alone. He is unsure what the King did during that time, as he remained outside the door.  _ _ Kili _ _ finally retrieved the King and escorted him back towards the healing rooms, but not before the King ordered that the room not be touched without his express permission.  _

_ I found some time to visit Bofur this evening. He’s shaved his beard. _

** _ Highday, the 27 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Afteryule, 2942 _ **

_ Restoring Erebor is fully underway. A good seven hundred dwarves are all finally at work, and quite frankly, I’m amazed at their speed in cleaning and organizing the mess Smaug left behind. _

_ Dwalin hasn’t spoken a word to the King since he first awoke. If this keeps up, I’m going to need to have a strict conversation with that man. He is his best friend, after all. However, Balin and Dwalin have made their amends, which I am grateful for. It does me well to see one less burden on Balin’s shoulders.  _

_ Kili smiled tonight, for the first time I’d seen since before the Battle. It’s amazing how such small things can brighten one’s day. _

** _ Sterday, the 28 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Afteryule, 2942 _ **

_ Gandalf bid us farewell this morning. He joined me for a spot of tea before he left, and was being as annoyingly enigmatic as ever. He said he had some business in the West to take care of and would tell me nothing else. Dwalin said he spoke with the King in private for a long while before he left, but did not know what it was he said. _

_ The first of several deliveries was made to the people of Dale. Fili reported that Bard was most grateful, and that the two have agreed to meet and discuss a potential trade agreement within the next couple of weeks. _

_ Nori somehow persuaded Dwalin to accompany me in a visit to Bofur. My One did not outright forgive him, but he did not shun him either, which I believe is progress.  _

_ A note from the Blue Mountains just arrived; Princess Dis has begun her return journey to Erebor. _

** _ Mersday, the 2 _ ** ** _ nd _ ** ** _ , Solmath, 2942 _ **

_ It took several hours of animated discussion, but Dwalin has finally spoken with the King. I opted to assist Ori in organizing the library in lieu of witnessing the conversation, but if the tears in Kili’s eyes told me anything when he visited me later, then I am assuming all went well. _

_ While I may have encouraged my One to speak with King, I myself have not had the stomach for it. To be honest, I do not know what I would say. Every time I think about it, I find myself so angry that I am tempted to either throw a fit or sob uncontrollably. Neither would be appropriate, and so I am biding my time. _

** _ Monday, the 13 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Solmath, 2942 _ **

_ I attended a meeting between Fili and Bard as one of Fili’s advisors along with Balin. While I might not know much about dwarven culture, I do know plenty about the proper exchange rate of currency due to managing my own finances in the Shire. I believe we have begun to create a fair deal that is mutually beneficial to all parties, which is quite the relief. _

_ The King has been declared hale by Oin and his healers, though it will be some time before he has regained all of his former strength. The people of Erebor heralded it as a miracle, but the King himself did not appear joyous. _

_ Bofur has continued to shave his beard, but he no longer shuns the company of others, which relieves myself – and Nori, to my immense surprise. _

** _ Stirday, the 9 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Rethe, 2942 _ **

_ My days have blurred together in activity. If I am not helping Ori organize the library, then I am assisting Bombur in the kitchens, or I am drafting official trade agreements with Bard and the merchants in Dale, or I am serving as a scribe in the King’s council meetings, or helping the dwarves determine the best areas around the outside of the mountain to start their own gardens. Staying busy has made coping with everything easier, mainly because I do not have time to think about – well, to think about you.  _

** _ Hevensday, the 13 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Rethe, 2942 _ **

_ Princess Dis and a large caravan from the Blue Mountains arrived today. It is one of the few times that I have seen the King and his nephews arrayed in their royal finery since Erebor was reclaimed. The Princess looks remarkably like her brother in her coloring and countenance, although she is undeniably more animated than her taciturn sibling. I will admit, it brought a tear to my eye to see the boys so happily reunited with their mother. She was not quick to dally, either; hours within her arrival, she had sequestered herself away in the royal chambers with the King, her nephews, and Balin, going over plans for further restoration. Given what snippets Dwalin heard – and relayed – of that conversation, I have no doubt in my mind that Erebor will soon, once again, be numbered among the great kingdoms of Middle-Earth. _

** _ Sterday, the 1 _ ** ** _ st _ ** ** _ , Lithe, 2942 _ **

_ The inhabitants of the mountain now number over 2,000, and more arrive every day. The council had been hoping to put off the King’s official coronation until more had returned to Erebor, but the Princess insisted that they had delayed long enough.  _

_ It was a rather decadent affair, which is quite a feat considering the state of the mountain just eight short months ago. Every citizen within the mountain was gifted new finery for the ceremony, and Ori has already told me that this occasion is sure to go down in history as one of Erebor’s greatest moments. _

** _ Sunday, the 12 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Foreyule, 2942 _ **

_ Dwalin and I were wedded today. _

_ Frankly, I saw no need to rush into any sort of ceremony, but Dis insisted that we be wedded before the year was out. I think she was probably tired of Dwalin’s complaining about me dragging my feet. It isn’t that I didn’t want to get married; far from it. It is just that it didn’t feel right to be married without all of our family present.  _ _ Without you _

_ It was a small affair, with all of the Company in attendance. Gandalf returned just in time to observe the proceedings, and we enjoyed a small dinner party afterwards. I write this note as we finish the preparations for our honeymoon – a long weekend in one of Bard’s newly refurbished guest houses in Dale. It shall be nice, I think, to have some time away from the mountain.  _

** _ Mersday, the 19 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Thrimidge, 2943 _ **

_ Several portraits, which were commissioned in honor of the reclamation of the mountain, were presented today to the King in a solemn ceremony. The large centerpiece, which will be hung in a place of prominence in a hall dedicated to the legacy of the dwarves, details the thirteen dwarves and myself charging against the dragon. It’s a bit gaudy for my tastes, but the council seemed pleased. _

** _ Monday, the 4 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Overlithe, 2943 _ **

_ Bofur and Nori were wedded today in a private ceremony. Only the company and the extended Ur clan were present to witness. Balin presided over the proceedings. Dori cried the entire time.  _

** _ Hevensday, the 7 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , Halimath, 2943 _ **

_ The mountain now numbers close to 4,000 dwarves. Dis has ordered an official census be taken. Almost all of my time is now dedicated to serving as Kili’s scribe as we complete this task. _

** _ Sterday, the 1 _ ** ** _ st _ ** ** _ , Foreyule, 2943 _ **

_ Arya, my dear, I’m afraid I must apologize. _

_ If, through some miracle, you ever find these missives, you will notice that my previous entries have grown shorter and shorter the more time has passed. This is due to one main reason, one which I hope you can forgive me for: I have been hiding things from you. The events that I have detailed have come to pass, and they are all true, but they are only part of what has really been occurring these last two years. I have hidden the rest of the truth from you, partly out of a desire to spare your feelings should you in fact read this, but mostly because I have been truly afraid to confront my reality. However, our present situation has grown too dire for me to hide any longer. _

_ The truth is, my dear, that nothing has been the same since you left. _

_ I have written that members of the Company have mended their friendships. That is true. But what is also true is though every member of the Company remains cordial with each other, any true sense of family was lost the moment the Elvenqueen stole you away. Bifur, Bombur, Dori, Nori and Ori are the only members of the Company besides myself who go out of their way to speak with Bofur, and Dwalin, to this day, rarely converses with the others. Fili and Kili didn’t speak to Dain to the point that Dis finally had to get involved and threaten them to cooperate, for the sake of the kingdom if nothing else. Dain has tried to make amends, though he remains confused about, well, you, but they have mostly fallen on deaf ears.  _

_ Things do not fare well with our neighbors, either. Though we have established a trade agreement with Dale, King Bard and his people do not look well upon the dwarves of Erebor. He holds you and the sacrifice you made for his people in high regard, and consequently does not go out of his way to work with the dwarves on matters of inter-kingdom cooperation. Most of the time he manages civility, but it does not come easily for him, nor for his people, for that matter. The elves are downright hateful, and any chance interaction between an elf and dwarf of any social standing usually ends in some sort of brawl. I remain uncertain just  _ ** _ why  _ ** _ the elves seem so angered by what occurred between yourself and the dwarves, but whatever it is, it must be serious, otherwise Gandalf would have not had to involve the Lady of  _ _ Lothlorien _ _ in getting the elves to stand down in the first place.  _

_ But these truths that I’ve hidden for you aren’t the truths that I feel particularly guilty about. I think, in my own way, I have tried to spare your feelings – to spare your heart – from any further pain, but that is no longer an option. For my own conscience, if nothing else, I must confess all, and if I am to confess all, then, my dear, we must talk about Thorin. _

_ You will notice in my previous entries that I almost always referred to him as the King. That is because it took me a very long time to recognize him as anything close to the man I knew before we reclaimed Erebor. That is not entirely his fault; I refused to see any sort of redeeming qualities in him upon his miraculous recovery, mostly out of, in my opinion, well-deserved spite for his treatment of you. I failed him in this regard. As the person closest to you during your time amongst us, I was perhaps the only one who could give him some peace of mind about everything that had occurred, but by the time I realized my own prejudices against him, it was too late. _

_ You see, my dear, Thorin doesn’t smile any more.  _

_ Now, if I know you, you’d probably roll your eyes and say that he didn’t smile much before. That is true, or at least, it was at the beginning of our journey. But the expression on his face that morning when you raced down the docks at Lake-town towards us is burned into my memory, shadowed only by the look on his face when you entered Erebor for the first time and you told him that yes, you would stay. I’ve seen that look on Dwalin’s face too many times since our wedding day to mistake it for anything other than love. If you didn’t know then, Arya, then you must know now that Thorin Oakenshield loved you, and not in the transitory, convenient sort of love of most Hobbiton marriages. No, he loved you as Dwalin loves me.  _

_ Do you remember that conversation we had outside of the treasury? Dwalin told us about dragon-sickness, how it held a particularly strong sway over the line of Durin. I didn’t realize it at the time, but knowing my husband as I do now, I could shake myself for missing something that now seems so obvious. He told you that not even Thorin’s One would be able to keep his dragon-sickness at bay, but he did not say this to frighten us; he said it to reassure you about your importance to Thorin, which he would have realized the moment he saw that ring on your finger. _

_ There is a legend, in dwarven culture, that the first item a dwarf ever crafts will call to their One in an unmistakable way. When the world was filled with tens of thousands of dwarves, this practice was a surefire way of ensuring that dwarven kings and queens would only be wedded to the person Aulë made for them. It fell out of practice at the start of this Age as the only indicator of a dwarf’s “One,” but the tradition continues in most noble-blooded families.  _

_ That ring you picked, that you wore upon your finger? That was the first piece Thorin ever crafted. And out of everything in Durin’s treasury, everything you could have possibly chosen, you chose that. Dwalin, as Thorin’s oldest friend, didn’t doubt your relationship to Thorin before, but once he saw that ring upon your finger, he was certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that you were his One. And Thorin, despite the dragon-sickness, knew it too.  _

_ I won’t ask you why you did what you did on that day. Like I said at the start of this letter, almost two years ago, part of me thinks you always knew what it was we were walking into, what it was the mountain would awaken in our companions. I’ve thought so many times about berating you for your choice, but then I see Fili and Kili walking around and laughing, and I see Dis fretting over her brother, and I know in my heart that I could never be mad at you for it. You giving me your bag that night makes so much sense now when I look back, especially as Dwalin has since confided in me that you tried to flee the mountain that first night and return to Lake-town. I know that you loved Thorin; I witnessed it in your eyes as you watched him turn to madness, I heard it in your voice as you begged him to see reason, and I saw it on your face as he threatened to kill you. I don’t know how you bore it, to see the person you love hurl so much hate and abuse your way and know, deep down, that you had to let it happen if you had any hope of saving them. For even if the orcs and goblins had never come, this trade had to be made for the good of the people, both in Erebor and in Dale.  _

_ Sigrid found me a few days after the battle and told me what occurred in Thorin’s sickroom; how you held his beating heart in your hands and painstakingly stitched it back together, ignoring the cries for your blood shouted around outside the flimsy tent. I know how even after all of that, you still couldn’t bear to be separated from him, so much so that Tauriel had to practically carry you out of the tent after you wished him goodbye one last time. And I know for a fact that this story has made its way back to Thorin, if only by the look on his face after he spoke with Sigrid at Bard’s coronation.  _

_ He doesn’t smile anymore, Arya. He has a little half-smile that he might share when he’s exceedingly pleased about something in a council session, or if he’s particularly amused by Dis or Dwalin or the boys, but it’s not  _ ** _ that _ ** _ smile, the one we saw so frequently near the end of our quest. Some days, his face hardly moves at all, and I am tempted to think he is more stone than the mountain that he’s made his home.  _

_ I told you about some portraits that had been commissioned. Several were ordered by Dis showing Thorin and the Company in various heroic situations. A few ladies in Dale were the ones who created the portraits. What I didn’t tell you is that a single portrait was made of you, included anonymously with the delivery. The dwarves in Erebor know better than to mention your name, if only to spare themselves abuse from the Company; only a select group of us know the depth of your and Thorin’s attachment. But still, having a portrait of you unveiled was a complete surprise to everyone gathered, and it almost started a riot.  _

_ It’s stunning, really. In the portrait, you stand in front of the darkened mountain, dressed in that white blouse and those green pants you wore on the day of the battle. Your clothes are dirtied with soot and blood, and your arms are reddened from exertion and surgery. Your hair is tied together in a loose braid, draped over your left shoulder, and your face bears several scratches from your skirmish upon the gate, as well as three darkened marks around your neck. In your hands you hold the Arkenstone, and you’re gazing down at it solemnly. However, there is only one real jewel used in the entirety of the painting, and that is a single diamond that falls from your eye like a tear.  _

_ To this day, we don’t know which of the artists painted the portrait. The council was about ready to launch an investigation, or a battle, or some combination of the two, when Thorin stood up from his throne, took the portrait in his hands, and hung it himself in the historic hall. It is in a small grotto built into the mountain wall, surrounded by candles and flowers that the royal treasury has replaced every week. Well, as far as the citizens of Erebor know, the royal treasury replaces the flowers every week. In reality, Thorin is the one who tends it, almost as if it was his own personal shrine. And when the council raised a fuss about its inclusion in the halls of history, Thorin allegedly declared that it was to serve as a symbol of the sacrifices that were made in the name of peace. No one has dared raise a concern about it since. _

_ I only know these things because I’ve befriended him again. Upon our return from our honeymoon, Dwalin and I had a long conversation about the status of my relationship with Thorin, and it was at his behest that I sought him out and began to speak with him. By the time I’d finally gotten him responding to me, I was much too late to give him any sort of solace that a friend would.  _

_ Thorin is, in my estimation, perhaps one of the greatest kings to ever walk the earth. He is always working. He attends every council meeting, presides over all holidays and celebrations, and spends the rest of his free time working amongst his people, doing whatever labor or tasks they need taken care of. Whatever curse laid upon him once, he is doing everything in his power to make up for it. Balin said that gold has never flowed so quickly out of the treasury, and his people – and those in Dale – prosper as a result. But in spite of all of the wonderful things he has done and is doing, he finds no peace. Thorin Oakenshield’s heart has been broken beyond repair, and the worst of it is, it is because of his own doing. _

_ If you’d actually wronged him in some way, if you hadn’t actually cared for him, he probably would have been able to move past this, or at least, found a way of not letting it control his life. But the awful, horrible truth is that this is Thorin’s fault. He couldn’t control his response to the dragon-sickness, certainly, but he didn’t think it was a threat to him either. He was too proud of his victory and blinded by his success for him to see the very real danger he faced.  _

_ I do not feel like I can properly say how culpable someone might be for their actions under the influence of evil magic. Some days I feel certain he is at least partially responsible; on others, I feel that he is nothing more than another victim in a long line of victims. At the end of the day, though, all that matters is how Thorin sees the situation and how he views himself. Bofur tortures himself for what he did on a daily basis; I am certain Thorin treats himself worse. _

_ I’m not blaming you for any of this. Frankly, I wouldn’t blame you if you turned your back on us completely and never came back. I don’t even know if you  _ ** _ can  _ ** _ come back. But once again, I find that danger is at our door, and I’m desperately praying for some kind of miracle, because the elves have returned, and they have brought their army, and they are demanding that either the dwarves hand over Thorin’s head or they will come and take it themselves. And the worst part is, Thorin is all-too-willing to do it.  _

_ That is where this prayer comes in. In spite of everything Thorin has done, in spite of everyone he has wronged – in spite of everything and every wrong he committed against you – he has dedicated his whole life to his people. And, though he has assuredly hurt you in ways that I can’t even imagine, I also believe that he does not deserve this fate. _

_ It is as I said before. I do not know if these letters will ever reach you. But please, Arya. If you do find them in time – if there is anything you can do, anything at all, please. We need you. Please, my dear. Please come home. _

_ Signed, _

_ Your Bilbo _

Arya’s eyes swam as she read the last of Bilbo’s words. She rubbed her sweater-clad arm across her face, trying – and failing – to stop the onslaught of tears rushing down her face. “Oh, God,” she sobbed, dropping Bilbo’s letters onto the table. It was as if she couldn’t breathe and was taking in too much breath at the exact same time, and her hands shook as she reached for her tea cup, trying – and failing – to calm herself down.

After several minutes of focused breathing, she was finally able to open her eyes again. And as she wiped her tears away from her eyes, she noticed a smaller page laid across the top of Bilbo’s letter, one that hadn’t been there before. Choking back a sob, she reached for the paper with trembling fingers.

_ Arya, _

_ By now you’ve read the entirety of Bilbo’s missives. I’m certain that I do not need to stress the urgency with which he relays his request. For as urgent as his request is, mine is too. The elves grieve your loss as much as the dwarves. They’d been waiting for the Queen’s daughter to arrive in the Woodland Realm for quite some time, and knowing my husband, they will not take your absence well.  _

_ Anna told you that you were not meant to return to your world; that is true. But I could not bear to see my only daughter die, and so I petitioned Aulë on your behalf, in payment for the life debts the Durins owed you. That is how I was able to save you that day on the field. And that is why I must now ask you to return. _

_ Thranduil is not an easy man to get to know, by any stretch of the imagination, but he is a good one. I would not have married him otherwise. And as I could not bear to see you perish, I cannot stomach the idea of losing both my husband and my son to a needless war. _

_ You will have twelve hours from when you first opened this letter to make your decision. Should you choose to return, simply tear the envelope that contained these letters in half, and you will be returned from whence you came. _

_ I know the gravity of what it is I am asking of you. I know how much you have suffered for those you love, and I would not blame you if you chose never to return. But I would not ask you if it was not of the gravest importance, because if you do not return, all of those we love will be lost. _

_ With all my heart, _

_ Elbereth, The Elvenqueen of the Woodland Realm, _

_ But to you, Your Mother _

///

Eleanor Harrison awoke to the sound of frantic pounding on her door. “What in the – do you know what time it is?” She hollered, reaching for her well-worn robe.  Binx ,  Jinksie and Tum Tum swarmed around her feet, meowing as she made her way over to her door. “Franklin Masters, if you’re on the scotch again, I swear to you -” 

She opened the door and found herself face to face with a distraught looking Arya Callahan. Her eyes were reddened, most likely with tears, and in her hand she held what looked like several sheets of worn parchment.

Eleanor gulped. “Is that?”

Arya just nodded, placing the parchment in her hands.

///

“Well,” Ms. Harrison started, having set the papers down on her kitchen table. “Well.” She glanced up at Arya, whose hands were holding onto her rose-adorned teacup like it was a lifeline. “You’re going. Aren’t you?”

“I - I have to,” the young woman murmured in reply.

“Well then,” Ms. Harrison nodded before pushing herself to her feet. “It’s time we get you packed.”

///

Arya was a whirling dervish, frantically charging around her apartment and throwing things into bags. Ms. Harrison, thankfully, was a bit more subdued, and was dutifully folding and packing said items into said bags. “No one’s picked up,” Arya groaned, dropping her cell phone onto the kitchen counter before rummaging through her cupboards. “I’ve left messages -”

“They’ll survive, my dear,” Ms. Harrison replied, dropping a few cat toys into one of Arya’s bags. “Besides, no one can really contest a family emergency.”

“But I’ll be gone -”

“By the time they learn that you’re living in the U.K. indefinitely, you’ll be nothing but a fond memory, I promise. Now,” she said, leaning down to pick up an enthusiastic  Binx , “I think that’s all the essentials. And don’t worry,  Binx does well in his travel bag.”

“ Binx ?” Arya finally looked away from her now empty cupboards, confused. “Why would  Binx – no, no, I couldn’t,” she replied with wide eyes, dropping the half-empty bag of chocolate chips onto the counter.

“You can, and you will,” Ms. Harrison replied with a soft smile. “Besides,” she said, walking the cat over and placing him in Arya’s arms, “he’d be quite put out if you didn’t take him on this adventure.”

For what felt like the hundredth time in a span of about three hours, Arya felt her eyes well up in tears. “Ms. Harrison, I -”

“Please, my dear. If this is goodbye, use my given name.”

“Eleanor,” Arya replied. Reaching forward, she wrapped her free arm around Ms. Harrison and hugged her tightly. “Thank you, for everything.”

“It has been my pleasure. Besides,” she said, pulling herself out of Arya’s embrace, “it’s not often that you meet a fellow traveler, and it’s only proper that you help when you can. Now, you, Mister  Binx ,” she said, taking the mewling  Siberian out of Arya’s arms and settling him into his carrier, “you be good for Miss Arya, you hear?”  Binx meowed loudly in reply. “Good, good. Now, my dear,” she said, turning back to Arya, “are you ready?”

Arya glanced around her now disorganized apartment. She hadn’t had as much time the last time she journeyed to Middle-Earth, and this time – well,  somehow she knew this time would be the last she would ever see of this world. “I think so.”

“All right then.” Ms. Harrison held out a windbreaker, which Arya quickly donned over her clothing, and then handed her a pair of flannel-lined boots. “I packed toys and treats and a bit of catnip for  Binx in your backpack, so make sure he doesn’t get into it too quickly.” She handed said backpack to Arya, followed by two overstuffed shoulder bags, all of which Arya slung onto her shoulders. With one final kiss aimed at  Binx , Ms. Harrison handed Arya the carrier and the envelope containing the letters.

“Good luck, my dear,” Ms. Harrison said with one final smile, backing away slowly. “May you find nothing but happiness, the rest of your days.”

Exhaling out a shaky breath, Arya slid the cat carrier up her arm, and with one final look – at Ms. Harrison, at her apartment, and at the world she was leaving behind – she ripped the envelope in half, and the world faded away.


	2. A Storm Gathers

It was a surprise to all the dwarves – and to Bilbo himself – that he did not miss much about the Shire. Sure, he missed his beloved Bag End, and the emerald green grass that went on as far as the eye could see, and his garden, and smoking a pipe with the other gentle-hobbits down at the pub, but he didn’t miss the endless gossip or the harsh winters or the ulcer brought on by Lobelia’s mere existence or the itching feeling that he was not where he was meant to be. Besides, his family – or the family that mattered – all lived within the mountain, and he felt pleasantly at home in the entirely impolite ways of the dwarves. But now, standing in the shadowy hall of the King amidst a horde of arguing dwarves, he’d never missed the simplicity of neighbors hoarding fertilizer more.

“The elves are at the gate, my King,” Rasar, a titian-haired junior recruit to the King’s Guard panted as he sped into the Chamber. “Vongar is speaking with them, but they are declaring that they will not desist.”

Bilbo winced at the Chamber exploded into noise. Almost three hundred dwarves had gathered at the emergency meeting headed by Princess Dís, who Bilbo knew had had to practically drag Thorin to attend. Every councilor to the King, as well as every senior King’s Guard member that Dwalin had personally selected was present in the Chamber, as well as Daín, his councilors, and his senior guard, which numbered an additional hundred dwarves. The senior councilors had seats around the large stone hewn table, with Thorin seated at the head, and the remaining two hundred and seventy-some dwarves crowded around it, stretching all the way into the back of the hall and up onto the benches that had been installed in the hewn wall for such occasions.

“I cannae believe that,” Niran, a fair-haired dwarf with long blonde braids snorted from his spot next to Daín. “Everyone has a price.”

“Aye, and the Elvenking’s price is our King’s head!” Vorn hollered back, spittle decorating his intricately woven auburn beard. He slammed his fist down on the granite table, which caused the dwarves surrounding him to start murmuring their assent.

“If we had a different solution, laddie, we wouldn’t be sitting here,” Balin sighed wearily.

“Unfortunately, we have known Thranduil far too long and far too well to hope that he could be reasoned with.” Elgrim, the eldest councilor, ran his fingers through his long, white beard.

“I bet you Kili could get a shot off before they noticed,” Daín suggested thoughtfully.

“Kili is fast, but he’s not that fast,” Fili spat back at his uncle, his royal braids glinting in the light.

“Oy, Kili can hear you, thank you very much!”

“Attempting to kill the Elvenking would only incite war, and war is what we are hoping to avoid,” Elgrim interrupted, shooting an exasperated look at the Lord of the Iron Hills. “We must find a peaceful solution -”

“Which is what the elves claim this is,” Vorn spat back. He leapt to his feet and slammed his hands down on the table again. “The head of the King who reclaimed Erebor in exchange for everlasting peace? HA!”

Wordless hollers of assent followed his words. Vorn’s elder brother, Glorn, also leapt to his feet. “How many years have we allowed those damn elves to look down upon us? To insult our kin, our very being with their every breath? Well, no more, I say! The time has come to rid us of those bastards once and for all.”

“HEAR HEAR!” The chamber cried out in chorus.

Vorn shot a sharpened grin at the masses. “I say, we march right out there and let those bloody tree-shaggers **ikhf’ id-ursu khazâd**!”

Glorn raised his fist above his head and let out a guttural shout. “**Du Bekâr!**”

The dwarves in the chamber burst into raucous cheers as they leapt to their feet, hollering and stamping as they pounded their fists in the air. “**Du Bekâr! Du Bekâr!**”

Even the senior members of Thorin’s council, excepting Balin and Elgrim, began to join in the raucous chant. Bilbo’s eyes swung back towards Thorin, who, taking a deep breath, finally rose to his feet. “**SHAZARA!” **He thundered, and the entire hall fell silent. He took another deep breath, and Bilbo glanced over at his husband, who was watching his oldest friend with a concerned look in his eyes.

“My friends,” Thorin began, his eyes glancing around the hall yet connecting with no one, “I am blessed by your bravery. But I cannot in good conscience allow you to risk your lives and the lives of your kin for me.”

The chamber dissolved into whispers. “My King - you cannot actually be considering this,” Halvar, the newest (and youngest) member of the King’s council whispered incredulously.

“He’s not,” Dís snapped, rising to her feet and glaring at her brother. “He’s gone daft if he thinks we’ll let him walk out there and get killed.”

“Dís -”

“Raergar, assemble the troops,” she ordered over Thorin’s words. “My friends, Glorn and Vorn are correct. If they wish to take the King’s life, they will have to fight the whole of Erebor first.”

Bilbo shot a worried look at Dwalin, who nodded back solemnly at his husband as the chamber exploded into noise. Thorin attempted to regain some semblance of order, but it was for naught; the councilors had already made their choice.

“Dís,” Thorin finally growled, turning to look at his sister, “I will not allow our people to suffer another war!”

“And I will not allow you to die,” she returned, just as coldly. “We both know that the Elvenking wants war, so war is what we’ll give to him. To arms, men! And you,” she fixed her brother with a glare, “stay out of sight.”

“I will not -”

“You will, or so help me, Thorin, I’ll kill you myself! Fili, Kili,” she said, turning to face her sons, “stay with your uncle. Make sure he remains out of sight of the gate."

“Dís!”

“But -”

“Yes, amad,” Fili elbowed his brother in the stomach.

“Dwalin,” Dís turned to face Thorin’s shadow, “assemble the rest of the Company. They should be able to assist my boys, lest the king get any bright ideas,” she growled, shooting a furious glare at her brother in warning. Thorin’s expression was just as thunderous, but Dís didn’t so much as blink at the sight.

“Yes, princess.”

“Good,” she replied stonily. “People of Erebor, today, we go to war!”

//////

“Another war.” Tauriel gazed at the emerald grasses surrounding the mountain, now bent and broken under the weight of the Woodland Realm’s armies. The dapple-gray stallion beneath her whinnied in commiseration. “She would not have wanted this.”

“You would know this?”

“Yes, I would know this,” Tauriel turned to meet Legolas’ glower. His brown steed huffed loudly, pawing at the ground in time with Legolas’ spiteful snort.

“Of course, you would. You, and not a member of her family.”

“My promise to your mother supersedes your pride,” she spat out in perfectly accented Sindarin. “I will not feel ashamed for doing what was asked of me.”

“And yet you failed her,” Legolas replied harshly, his eyes hardening into icy disdain.

“We all did,” Glorfindel’s voice spoke sternly, his own black horse coming to a stop next to Legolas. “We are needed at the front line. I am sure you can continue this heedless squabble later.”

Legolas sniffed angrily and spurred his horse ahead in a brisk canter, declining to both reply and acknowledge Glorfindel’s presence.

“Though you are right, it is a battle you cannot win,” Glorfindel replied softly, the moment Legolas was beyond their reach. “Let us hope we do not say the same of today.” Glorfindel clicked his tongue, and his own horse followed the Elvenprince.

_Elbereth, heed my prayers_. “_Ammen glenn,” _Tauriel murmured. “Let us go, then.”

////

“Thranduil, surely you must see this is madness!” Gandalf huffed out, his steed keeping stride with the Elvenking’s. “Thorin’s promise to Elladan was made under the pretense that it was an empty threat, not a binding claim on his life!”

Thranduil hummed disinterestedly, his eyes sweeping across the gathered host of elves. “A true king does not give out empty promises.”

“A true king would not kill another in cold blood,” Gandalf spat. Thranduil stiffened, but only momentarily. Sighing, Gandalf leaned towards him, blocking Thranduil’s line of sight with his face. “She would not want this,” he pleaded, his eyes boring into Thranduil’s stony face. “If for no other reason, spare him, in her memory.”

“It is in her memory that I am doing this,” he replied coolly.

“Thranduil, I must warn you -”

“Save your warnings for those who need it, Mithrandir,” Thranduil cut Gandalf off, urging his stag forward so it was in line with the commanders of his army.

“I cannot condone your actions, Elvenking!” Gandalf hollered as the elves rode towards the Mountain.

“Well then,” Thranduil briefly turned back, “it is a good thing I don’t need you to.” And with that, Thranduil tossed his head and urged his steed – and the thousands of elves that had heeded his call – forward towards Erebor.

Gandalf swore under his breath, just as the sound of thundering hooves came up behind him. “He will not yield?”

“Did you expect him to?”

“No,” replied Bard with a sigh. “No, I did not. But that did not stop me from hoping.”

“Nor I,” Gandalf replied, suddenly appearing much older than he usually did. “I do not foresee this ending well.”

“We will assist any who are injured, but I will not send the men of Dale to war. I would rather break a treaty than lose any more of my people.” Bard’s voice was soft steel.

“And I would not ask you to,” Gandalf turned back, sweeping his eyes across the gathered host of Dale who stood within the city limits, eyes fixed upon the mountain. Several tents had already been erected just outside the city, with several people buzzing in and out of the tents, preparing for a bloodshed Gandalf desperately, desperately hoped they could somehow still avoid.

“I would welcome your company at the gate, though I doubt they will heed your words,” he said, finally turning to glance at Bard. Bard nodded solemnly in acquiescence, and at his motion his gathered councilors and guardsmen – also on horseback – fell into line behind their king.

“You will have it.”

“Then, come,” Gandalf said, his eyes turning back towards the multitudes gathered around the mountain. “Let us bear witness to the greatest tragedy to befall the kingdoms of elf and dwarf.”

/////

“ - stay hidden -”

“ - for the best -”

“ - only make things worse -”

“ - uncle, please, be reasonable -”

“ -am the only one here who is being reasonable!” Thorin hollered, his face red from shouting. “Balin, you at least must see that this is folly!”

“Ay, yer majesty, which is why I must head to the gate. Dwalin, give him some of Oin’s special medicine if he gets too spirited,” Balin said, pushing his way out of the guest chambers and into the din of the packed hallway.

“Balin, BALIN!” Thorin lunged forward, ignoring the squeals of Dori, Ori, Bifur, Bombur, and Gloin, who had given the other group a break in attempting to hold Thorin back. Fili and Kili lay panting on the floor, as did Nori, Bofur, Oin, and Gimli, Gloin’s bull-headed son whom Gloin had drug with him, rather than let him attempt to join the amassing army at the gate.

“Ye heard what Balin said, Thorin,” Dwalin positioned himself between Thorin and the door. “Now, try to be less spirited, hm?”

It had taken the combined strength of Dwalin, Fili, Kili, and finally Dori to get Thorin out of the council’s chambers and into what Princess Dís had deemed was one of the “safe” rooms, a small set of guest rooms above the gate. They were close enough that the inhabitants could hear what, exactly, was happening outside the mountain, but had no outward points of entry. Bilbo had hid himself in a corner and wished, not for the first time, that he’d had the foresight to take his ring out of its hiding spot in his and was watching the proceedings, his small fingers tracing around the golden ring in his pocket.

“I will not dishonor my people by hiding like a coward!”

“And you will not dishonor your people by handing yourself over like some common criminal!” Fili finally hollered, pulling himself to his feet. “This was bound to happen eventually, uncle,” he said, and his voice spoke with such a terrible finality that Thorin finally stopped struggling. “There is too much hate between us and the elves. At least now we are reasonably prepared.”

Thorin exhaled, and it was as if he aged in front of Bilbo’s eyes. “I have brought this upon us. In my greed and anger, I have brought doom to our people.”

Kili’s expression broke. “No, Uncle, this is not your fault.”

“Yes, Kili. Yes, it is. I have wrought this, and I must end it.” Thorin looked up and glanced around the room, gazing at the fallen faces of his comrades. Of his family. “Do you not agree?”

No one answered him.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin said, his gaze falling upon a fidgeting Bilbo, “do you not agree?”

Bilbo cleared his throat nervously. “Well, I -”

“Careful, laddie,” Gloin sang out through gritted teeth.

“Let him answer,” Thorin held up his hand, silencing Gloin. “Master Baggins, do you not agree?”

“Well, first of all, I’m a Fundinson now, thank you very much,” Bilbo chittered, his fingers enclosing around that plain gold ring and a very preposterous idea. “But in terms of your earlier question, well, I do and I don’t.”

“Oh, of course,” Nori groaned out.

“Laddie, we don’t have time for a philosophical debate right now,” Bombur offered, but not unkindly.

Thorin’s gaze narrowed in on Bilbo.

“I agree that you have brought this upon yourselves.” All of the dwarves, including his husband, snapped towards Bilbo in shock. “You certainly could have made more of an effort to polite to the elves, at the very least.”

“Uncle Bilbo?!”

“For the last time, Kili, I am not – augh, that is not the point. Yes, I agree that you have brought this on yourselves by refusing to let go of this prejudice of yours, justified though it may be and feel. However, I do not think you, Thorin, are the one to do something about it.”

“Well, you see?” Gloin said, clapping Thorin on the back. “At least he agrees with us on that! You are staying here.”

Dwalin’s eyes narrowed in on his husband. “Bilbo -”

“No, the person to do something about it, well, that’s me.”

The room fell silent again, and Dwalin’s expression grew stormy. “Don’t you dare.”

“Wish me luck,” Bilbo said with a watery smile, and sliding the band onto his finger, disappeared from the dwarves’ sight.

//////

The chime of the great bell of Erebor echoed across the plains surrounding the Lonely Mountain. Glorfindel whistled, and the entirety of Thranduil’s immense army assumed a defensive position. The bell of Erebor chimed again, and the great doors into the city opened, revealing an army led by Lord Dain of the Iron Hills, seated astride a statuesque mountain goat. A flash of silver light caught Gandalf the Gray’s eyes, and he glanced upward just in time to see Princess Dís make her way onto the battlements, surrounded by several of her councilors and guards, all of whom were fully outfitted for war.

“It seems they will not be reasoned with either,” Gandalf heard Thorburn, Bard’s captain of the guard, whisper to the King of Dale. They had positioned themselves upon a gentle embankment that rolled down from the mountain. It was between the army of elves and the mountain, but it was removed enough that should any battle commence, they would be able to efficiently extract themselves without getting involved. At least, Bard and his men could. Gandalf did not think in the event of a battle that he would be able to remain neutral.

“Once again you approach our kingdom dressed for war. Come now, Thranduil the Elvenking, surely you are not so desperate for the blood of your brethren to water our fields?” The dwarves surrounding the Princess and holding the line in front of the mountain began to laugh and jeer at her words, but her face showed no outward emotion.

“It appears not,” Bard sighed quietly.

“I have no interest in spending any more of my precious time showing your people where exactly they belong,” Thranduil replied in an almost bored tone, urging his steed to take a step closer to the mountain. Dain shouted at the motion, and the dwarves outside of the mountain stepped backwards, settling into an attack position. “I have merely come to collect what is my due."

Dís snorted. “Your due. The life of the King of Erebor is your due? By what right?”

“Yes, Elven-king,” Dain spat his words out like they were insults, “what gives ye the right?”

“The King himself.”

The dwarves began to murmur amongst themselves, and from Gandalf’s position, he could see Dís’ cold face break into a thunderous frown. “You would invent lies and use them as a reason to kill us? Have you really stooped so low, King of the Woodland Realm?”

“Believe what you wish, but I have only ever told you and your people the truth, Princess,” Thranudil sneered. “If you do not believe me, ask your King himself, about a certain promise he made to Lord Elladan of Rivendell.”

//////

“Where is he?”

“ - he just disappeared -”

“ - ay, just like in the battle -”

“ - we will find him, Dwalin,” Thorin said, breaking away from his nephews and placing his hand upon Dwalin’s shoulder. The moment Bilbo had disappeared, the entire room had broken into a frenzy, searching every corner and looking for any possible exit. There was no sign of the hobbit. Instead of joining the search, however, Bilbo’s husband had merely slumped against the wall, still keeping himself between Thorin and the door, but the expression on his face was one of resigned pain.

“We won’t find him Thorin. Not here.”

Thorin took in the forlorn expression on Dwalin’s face, and some small piece of his resolve snapped back into place.

“No,” Thorin murmured. Grabbing Dwalin by the shoulders, he maneuvered Dwalin so he was facing him. “You will not lose him. Not this day.” With a might shove, he pushed Dwalin back through the door and took off at a sprint, racing towards the gate.

“ - wait -”

“ - stop! Stop him! THORIN!”

“ - really stooped so low, King of the Woodland realm?” He heard his sister’s cutting voice as he descended the stairs, pushing past the surprised guards and towards the open air of the gate.

“Believe what you wish, but I have only ever told you and your people the truth, Princess. If you do not believe me, ask your King himself, about a certain promise he made to Lord Elladan of Rivendell.”

Thorin reached the bottom of the stairs just as the memory hit.

“_Should any harm befall her, I will have your head.”_

_“Understood.”_

_“_Thorin,” he heard Kili’s gasping voice behind him. “Thorin, wait -”

Thorin stepped out into the morning light of the battlements, in view of the sea of elves waiting below.

//////

New motion stirred upon the battlement, and Gandalf watched with a sunken heart as Thorin appeared, dazedly carrying himself towards his sister, who was angrily barking instructions at the guards, attempting to stop his approach.

“ - remove the King -”

“Enough, Dís,” Thorin ordered. With a weary wave of his hand the dwarven guards resignedly stepped back. “He’s right. It is his due.”

“What are you talking about?” She bit out angrily.

“The day we left Rivendell, Lord Elladan told Thorin that should any harm befall our healer, he would have Thorin’s head,” Balin repeated dutifully, although even from his position on the ground, Gandalf could see the frustrated tears in his eyes. “But that was not an oath made in good conscience.”

“And even if that oath was made in good conscience,” Dís spoke up, but not before she shot Thorin a frustrated glare, “the last time I checked, your name was not Elladan of Rivendell. You have no right to ask for due on his behalf.”

“On the contrary, Princess Dís, I have the only right. Tell me, what do you recall of my wife?”

“Nothing,” Dís replied matter-of-factly. “She was gone long before our great-grandparents were born.”

“Right, of course,” he smiled condescendingly. “It must have slipped my mind. You are aware that Arya Callahan was not originally of this world?”

“Yes,” Dís bit out slowly, and Gandalf swore for a moment that she was glaring at him for keeping such information from the dwarves in the first place.

“Neither was my wife. Before my wife was called Elbereth, she was known as Elizabeth Callahan.”

The dwarves on the ground began to stir, and even now Dís was starting to look uncertain. “A relative, then?”

Thranduil laughed sharply. “Time is a funny thing, Princess. You see -"

“Get to the point, already,” Dain bit out angrily, and before Bard could stop him, Gandalf had moved his steed forward.

“Before Elizabeth Callahan travelled to Middle-Earth, she had a child. A daughter, to be exact, one that she named Arya.” Gandalf came to a stop in front of the elvish army, ignoring the glare from Thranduil. He sighed and lifted his head towards the dwarves upon the gate. “Arya Callahan is the daughter of Queen Elbereth, making her King Thranduil’s daughter by marriage.”

Silence.

“That is impossible,” Dís finally spat out, ashen. “She is – was mortal. Human.”

“That is correct."

“Her mother arrived ages ago.”

“It is not for me to say why Iluvatar sends those when he chooses to do so,” Gandalf replied calmly, his eyes making their way towards Thorin who stood, pale and aghast with shock. “You have lived longer than she has, but she was born first.”

“Did you know?” Dís said, whirling to look at Thorin.

“He had no idea,” Gandalf spoke loudly, eying the dwarves beneath the mountain as they began to stir nervously. “And to be fair to Miss Callahan, neither did she. She only knew that she was vaguely related to Lord Elrond of Rivendell through her aunt’s marriage to him.”

“She knew she was related to Lord Elrond and she didn’t tell us?” Prince Fili strode onto the battlement with the rest of the Company following behind him, a thunderous expression on his face.

Gandalf smiled sadly. “She knew you hated elves, and you could barely stand her most days. Are you really that surprised that she would keep this hidden from you?”

The dwarves upon the gate began to shuffle around in anger, and Dís’ face grew red. “You should have told us -”

“I did not have to tell you _anything_,” Gandalf’s voice grew darker as he glared down the dwarves. “Your ignorance is the result of your own doing. Or did you forget what occurred immediately after the battle?”

Murmurs began to accompany the shuffling. Thranduil urged his steed in front of Gandalf’s, shooting the wizard a frustrated glance. “So you see, in my position as her father, it is only right that I call for my due, not only in payment for the broken promise, but also for the abuse she and her name has suffered at the hands of your people ever since.”

“A life for a life, then?” Dís’ voice rang out, teary and furious. “That is what you wish?”

“That is why I am here.”

Dís shook her head in dismay. “And you believe she would want this?”

“It does not matter what she wants, Princess. It is a matter of what I want. And what I want -”

“You should want to honor her,” Bilbo Baggins spoke quietly, seemingly appearing out of a shadow on the mountain wall, mere feet away from the army of elves.

Thranduil's gaze snapped towards Bilbo, distaste upon his features. “The halfling.”

“BILBO!”

“DAIN, GRAB HIM!”

Dain moved to step forward, and the archers leaped to attention, focusing their arrows on the Lord of the Iron Hills. Bilbo swallowed anxiously but stepped out of the shadows and towards Thranduil, despite the imminent danger and the pleading cries of his husband and friends from upon the battlement. “You are not the only family she has here.”

“You speak of yourself, then?” Thranduil’s face grew cold.

“Myself, yes, and the dwarves. Now, you might be connected by relation to her, but I believe that I am the one who knew her best, and she – she would not want this.” Bilbo swallowed again, his fingers nervously fiddling with something in his pocket. “Everything she did, everything she suffered, was for the dwarves. To keep them safe.”

“And how do you claim to know this?”

“I know, because she signed up for a dangerous journey without hesitation. Because she endeavored to follow the dwarves through the rain and the cold and the distrust when it would have been far, far easier to stay in Hobbiton or Rivendell.” Bilbo sighed, and lifted his eyes towards Gandalf, who nodded back at him in support. “And because she took credit for giving away the Arkenstone. She knew what it would cost, but she did it anyways, so she could help the people of Dale and those wounded by the battle.”

Now Thranduil was openly frowning. “How do you -”

“I’ve thought about that night many times. When I snuck out and gave you the Arkenstone. And yes, Thorin,” Bilbo sighed again, raising his voice so that it could be heard on the battlements, “to be clear, I was the one who gave away the Arkenstone, not her.”

Every single dwarf, both on the battlements and on the ground, froze and stared at Bilbo in disbelief. Thorin, Gandalf noted, looked completely devastated, but the Company – it was as if they’d never seen Bilbo before in their lives.

“It was her idea, of course. And it was her idea to send along her bag, that, that bag,” he said, pointing to the old green bag that Gandalf had tied up on his saddle, just in case. “You had her locked in her room, Thorin. Have you never considered that it would have been impossible for her to leave?”

He turned back to look at Thranduil, and Gandalf noted with pride that the look of fear on Bilbo’s face was gone. “She gave me that bag for a reason. It was because she was planning on taking the fall. She knew it was the only way she’d be able to leave the mountain, and if she hadn’t, Thorin and the boys would be dead. She knew,” he finished in a whisper. “She knew, this whole time.”

For the first time since he had arrived, Thranduil was struck silent.

“So you see, she did everything to keep them safe. And to help keep the people of Dale safe,” Bilbo said, nodding towards Bard, who had slowly urged his horse forward during Bilbo’s speech. “The best way you could honor her would be to leave this in the past. Please,” Bilbo’s voice broke, and Gandalf could see the tears begin to rush to Bilbo’s eyes. “Let her memory be better than this.”

Thranduil exhaled slowly, blowing the air out through his nose. “I appreciate your honesty, hobbit, but like an apology from a dwarf, it is too little, too late. Either you hand over the king’s head,” Thranduil said, his gaze growing fiery in the face of the anguished dwarves, “or I come and take it myself.”

The only reply was a bright flash of light, followed by a crack so loud it sounded as if the mountain itself had split into two.

/////

_Inhale. Exhale._

A light breeze rustled through her still-damp hair. The call of ravens echoed off in the distance. The air was cool, almost biting, and she could swear the coldness of the firm soil beneath her feet was sneaking upwards, through her boots and into her legs and her very bones -

_Inhale. Exhale._

Binx meowed from within his cat carrier, and Arya opened her eyes.

She was back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so much for your incredible comments! I've been hard at work trying to craft this, and it's taking me longer than I initially thought. I really want to make sure that I get the details right, and that it feels realistic, like you are watching what is happening, if that makes any sense. I don't feel entirely satisfied, but I don't know what other descriptors I can contribute here about the armies, it's not a strong suit of mine.
> 
> I'm hard at work at Arya's return (Chapter 3), but just be aware that I'm trying my hardest to be as realistic about all of her emotions without sacrificing her love and selflessness. It's kind of like writing trauma in a way? Like, it was a dragon curse here, but that doesn't always change how you feel and react, especially when she was so rudely thrust back into her home world alone. This next chapter is going to be probably the darkest out of all of them, and then it will be the time for healing and forgiveness and LOVE because at the end of the day, despite everything that's happened, she and Thorin (in my mind) are desperately in love with each other. Thorin and the dwarves just have to do a bit of soul-searching first (as do the elves.) As always, let me know what you think, and thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for the encouragement and support!


	3. Back Again

She was standing on the fields beyond Dale. She knew this because she could see the ruins – or, what had been the ruins, but were clearly in the process of being rebuilt – rising into the air behind an endless sea of elves and, woo, she’d forgotten how the sheer amount of armored people in Middle-Earth could make a girl feel overwhelmed. Especially when she was dressed in nothing but a sweater and leggings and her arms were full of cat.

Some part of her mind was running the odds; if the elves were armed and facing away from Dale, and if the urgency of Bilbo’s letter had been correct, then it was most likely the case that she was standing in front of the Lonely Mountain, which meant that behind her she was likely to find a whole horde of dwarves -

_Breathe, breathe, breathe, don’t panic, just breathe, _she began to coach herself in her head. Binx meowed from the depths of his cat carrier. _Focus on the cat. Don’t think about the dwarves or knives or anything like that, just focus on the cat, focus on the cat - _

_“_Arya?”

His voice stilled everything, her lungs, her thoughts, her arms. Slowly, she turned to the right and saw a familiar head of tousled golden curls and a pair of shining eyes gazing up at her.

“Bilbo,” Arya breathed, and before she’d registered that she’d done it, she’d swung dropped the cat carrier – gently – onto the ground and swept the well-dressed hobbit into her arms.

“Arya,” he gasped out, wrapping his arms around her. “You’re here!”

She could feel her shirt growing wet, and she grasped hold of him tighter. “I’m here.”

“ - you’re, you’re here, why are you here?”

Arya chuckled, feeling her own throat grow tight with tears. “I got your letter."

Bilbo chuckled right back, and he finally pulled away, patting the tears away from her face. “But how?"

“Yes, just how did you return?” A cool masculine voice spoke from behind her.

The rose-colored light switched off with the sound of his voice as she remembered just _why _she’d been forced to – no, had decided to come back.

She held up her pointer finger at the voice. It could wait.

That part of her brain began thinking again. If the dwarves were behind her (and _some _people were behind her), and if the whispers were any indication, then they were far enough away that Bilbo had – most likely – tried to walk out and talk some sense into the elves, like with the Arkenstone, meaning that he was completely unprotected.

Arya glanced down at the ground, and picking up the cat carrier, handed it off to Bilbo. “Hold Binx for me?” She framed it as a question but dropped it into Bilbo’s hands without hearing an answer. Bilbo was one of hers, damnit, and no pissed off elf-cousin was going to _touch him_.

She glanced up, and the face of the closest elf slid back into familiarity. “Thranduil,” she began calmly. “We need to talk. This,” she said, gesturing at the army of elves standing in front of her, “is not okay. This is the opposite of okay.”

Thranduil jaw tightened. “You may not be aware of this, but as your father -”

“Step-father,” she cut in drily.

“You know?” Bilbo’s voice piped up next to her.

“I know _now_. It’s been a weird few hours.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, blatantly annoyed at the interruption. “As your father, I can assure you that there are histories in play here that you do not understand.”

“You mean the reason for this blood feud? No, I’m familiar with the tale of Thingol, I’ve done my homework.”

“Indeed,” a wizened old voice spoke, and Gandalf the Gray urged his steed to walk into her view. The expression on his face was one of wary relief. “Knowing your mother, that is not a surprise. It is good to see you my dear.”

Arya’s throat grew suspiciously tight. “Thank - thanks, Gandalf,” she swallowed as she nodded in greeting. “As I was saying,” she turned her eyes back to Thranduil, “I’m well aware of why you’re here.”

“Yes, to receive that which we are owed,” Thranduil replied coolly. “This is merely a matter of their honor -”

“No, Thranduil, this is a matter of your pride,” she shook her head frantically, “and your pride will have you killed, it will have all of your people killed!”

“Have a bit more faith in your family, my dear.”

“My family?” She let out a hoarse laugh, stepping back from Thranduil. “You are _not_ my family. Not if you do this.”

For the first time since she’d arrived, his expression changed from placidness to anger. “Your place is with the elves.”

“Nae, her place is with the dwarves!” A rough voice called out from behind her. She turned around to see a redheaded dwarf swing off his mountain goat. He was flanked by an entire army of dwarves, all of whom were processing out of – yes, that was in fact the Lonely Mountain – she snapped her gaze back towards the dismounting dwarf.

Thranduil shouted something in Sindarin, and the entirety of the elven army refocused their aim upon the redheaded dwarf who marched steadily towards her, ignoring the shouts from his soldiers and brethren. And as he drew closer, she had the vaguest sense that she’d seen him somewhere before.

_“Do ye hear that, lads? These boys’re just achin’ for a good fight. Why else would they be fallin’ all over this she-rat?”_

_“_DAIN!”

“ - stay where you are -”

“ - right where you stand, dwarf -”

“STOP!” Arya panted, her head swiveling between the elves and Dain. “You, drop your weapons, and you,” she pointed at Dain, “stay back.”

A voice – a loud voice – _his _voice – hollered from the mountain behind Dain, and Dain stopped in his tracks, dropping his weapons and raising his hands in a supplicating manner. “I will not harm ye, lass. Ye have my word.”

_She lost her focus for a moment at the sound of that voice, of his voice. Thorin. Thorin. Thorin, her mind seemed to chant over and over like a prayer. Thorin and his eyes and his hair and his laugh and his smile and his frown and his grimace and his hands on her wrists and his torn-up chest and his beating heart -_

“Sorry,” she shook her head, her eyes meeting Dain’s, “there’s not a lot of trust in this relationship right now. And you!” She said, turning to look back at the elves, “what did I tell you? Drop. Your. Weapons!”

"They are at my command, daughter,” Thranduil’s tone was once again cool and disaffected.

She huffed. “Fine. Father dearest,” she spit out through gritted teeth, “tell your men to drop their weapons. NOW.”

Thranduil waved his hands, and the elves fell back to attention in one fluid motion.

“Good,” she exhaled, dropping her hands back down to her side, no longer feeling like she had to physically hold both sides back. “Now, gather your elves, pack up your things, and leave.”

The elves behind Thranduil stirred as his face slid back into a frown. “Leave?”

“Leave,” she nodded. “Unless you’re willing to collaborate with the dwarves and the people of Dale on a peace treaty, you need to leave. Right now. Before anyone gets hurt.”

“A peace treaty,” he replied in disbelief.

“Pssh,” she heard Dain snort from behind her. “Ye’d have better luck wishing for the sky to fall. We will never treat with the elves!”

“Lord Dain, you are not helping,” Gandalf thundered from his horse.

Bilbo cleared his throat from her right. “I agree with Arya, King Thranduil. A peace accord of some kind would truly be in the best interest of -”

“I did not ask for your opinion, halfling.”

“Oi, watch it, yer majesty!”

“You will either be respectful,” Arya echoed after Dain, “or you won’t say anything at all. And you certainly won’t win me over by insulting my friends.”

Gandalf cleared his throat and shot Thranduil a look which had Thranduil rolling his eyes. “Apologies. Hobbit.”

“Miracle of miracles -”

“That goes for you too, Lord Dain,” Arya turned around and shot him a quick glare. A flurry of motion up and behind Dain nearly caught her eye, but she forced herself to turn back around and face down the elves. _One thing at a time. “_Please,” she began again, stepping closer towards Thranduil. “I know that there are centuries worth of pain and anger and hatred here, but it doesn’t have to be this way. Your people deserve better. Their people deserve better! We all deserve better than this. Please. We can end this, here, now, once and for all, just please, stand down.”

The field around her fell silent. She heard the vague sounds of shuffling behind her, but Arya kept her entire focus on the Elven-king standing in front of her, _willing _him to see reason with all of her heart. And for one, brief shining moment as they looked in each other’s eyes, she thought that she’d gotten through.

But then Thranduil opened his mouth.

“Your passion shows your quality, but this cannot be solved by a treaty. No, this debt must be settled, one way or another.”

The dwarves began to shout behind her. Arya shook her head in disbelief, watching Thranduil’s face grow cold, seeing Gandalf’s expression fall in sadness. “No, no, no! This isn’t just me talking, Thranduil, this is Mom too!”

That, finally, got his attention, and his eyes snapped down onto her, as did the gaze of a familiar-looking blonde elf seated on a steed to Thranduil’s left. Dropping her remaining bags onto the ground, Arya wrenched around the pouch on the front of her backpack and dug out a now-wrinkled note. “_Arya_,” she began to read aloud, “_I cannot stomach the idea of losing both my husband and my son to a needless war. I know the gravity of what it is I am asking of you. But I would not ask you if it was not of the gravest importance, because if you do not return, all of those we love will be lost._ This, this is from my mother, your wife!” She shook the letter in his face. “These are her words! If you do this, everyone here will lose! Please, please, end this!”

Again, Thranduil was silent for a moment. “Your mother,” he began, swallowing convulsively. “Your mother has spent too many years away from her kin. She has forgotten all that we have suffered.”

“No,” Arya murmured, her eyes clouding with tears, “no!”

“If an honorable death is the price that I must pay, then I will pay it. That is no high cost.”

“Please, if not for yourselves, then for me,” she begged, dropping the letter onto the ground. She saw Bilbo tighten his hold on Binx’s carrier out of the corner of her eye. Binx had begun plaintively crying at the sound of her voice, and none of Bilbo’s shushing could stop it.

“But I am doing this for you,” Thranduil replied, his voice like stone. “For all the ways the dwarves have wronged you, starting on the day that Thorin Oakenshield tried to throw you from the ramparts. I will start with him. And if we will have war, then so be it. This debt will be paid,” he proclaimed, sliding off his steed and unsheathing his sword in one fluid motion.

“Ye bastard!” Dain roared from behind Arya, and she stumbled forward at the sound of the dwarves, who began to frenzy at the sound of Thranduil’s words. “Ye will die before ye get the chance!”

The elves began to holler back, and soon Arya was cocooned in a wall of sound, the sound of the elves’ anger and the dwarves’ fury, of arrows being knocked into bows and axes being drawn and scraped against armor. She stumbled backwards, and as her eyes met Gandalf’s, a series of memories crashed through her mind.

_“It had to be done.”_

_“Not by you.”_

_“Yes, by me._

_“But at this cost? Of endangering your own life, of being killed by-”_

_“I’ve always known the cost. This is what I’m here to do.”_

_“Even if it kills you?”_

_Even if it kills you?_

“ENOUGH!”

The reverb from her scream silenced everything else, knocking both the elves and dwarves off balance. The horses had to skitter to stay upright, but stay upright they did. Gandalf, of course, had had no problem, being the one who cast the spell in the first place, but Bilbo fell backwards at the sound, Binx’s cage momentarily scraping against the ground.

“Enough,” she repeated sharply, quietly. “You want someone to pay this debt?” Arya bunched her hands into fists. “Fine. I’ll pay it.” She raised her watering eyes to meet Thranduil’s. “Kill me.”

No one moved. No horse neighed, no breath was taken. The world was completely and totally silent. And Thranduil, for the first time, looked horrified. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered in disbelief.

“Arya -”

“No, Bilbo,” she could barely utter the words. Clearing her suddenly full throat, she approached the Elven-king, “I mean it. Kill me. Put me out of my misery. I would rather be dead,” she gulped, her tears threatening to fall over the ledge of her eyelids, “than watch you and everyone I care about murder each other. So if you’re going to do this, you start with me.” She came to a stop in front of Thranduil, Thranduil, who couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Arya -”

Grabbing his right hand, the one that held the sword, she swung it up so that the tip of the sword was resting on top of her shoulder, right next to her neck. “You want war?” She continued, her eyes so welled up she could barely see. “You want to end this? Then you start here. Kill me.”

Thranduil was frozen, staring down at the blade on her shoulder in terror.

“Do it,” she spat, her despair blossoming into rage. “DO IT!”

The sword tip lifted off her shoulder, emitting a metallic _clunk _as it clattered onto the ground beside her. “Stand down,” Thranduil murmured, and a breeze drifted past her face from the speed at which the elves dropped their own weapons.

“Lass,” she heard Dain call out from behind her, his voice cracking.

“Don’t,” she ordered, the tears now streaming down her face. The world grew warm, far too warm, and no matter how often she breathed, she couldn’t get enough air into her chest. She flinched back, back away from Thranduil and the elves and the look in their eyes and the grief stricken across the Elven-king's face and his mouth was forming shapes that looked familiar but all she could hear was the echo of her own name over and over and over again interspersed with those words that had been burned into her memory –

** _I will not be responsible should she perish!_ **

_Arya_

** _She’s been lost ever since she left home. She should never have come. She has no place amongst us._ **

_Arya_

** _We have decided to swear our eternal fealty to you instead._ **

** _Stay with us. Stay with me._ **

_Arya_

** _Do not speak to me of love. Not after what you have done._ **

_Arya_

** _CURSED BE THE WIZARD THAT FORCED YOU UPON THIS COMPANY! CURSED BE EVERY MOMENT OF YOUR DAYS!_ **

_ARYA_

** _LEAVE, YOU FAITHLESS HARLOT! LEAVE AND NEVER RETURN!_ **

"Don’t,” she gasped, trying to push away a bodiless voice. “Don’t.”

The world started to tilt. The colors around her began to swell and diminish, seemingly in rhythm with her racing heartbeat. She felt the two feet beneath her, her feet, stop moving, but her legs did not, and then she fell, tumbling towards the frozen ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> Okay so how do we think/feel about this? I've spent days and weeks and months agonizing on how to get her back and where she should be emotionally. Like, she loves the dwarves, but girlfriend has some serious anxiety issues after everything, which I think is a totally rational response given things like war and dragon's curses and the isolation and stuff. Arya needs to find her peace with this reality before she can jump back to the dwarves, but don't worry, the jumping will happen. Eventually :) Please let me know what you think!!! Love you as always!


	4. The Storm Breaks

It was strange, how Dwalin could go from attempting to keep Thorin off of the gate in one moment and then ordering his soldiers to keep him on the gate in the next. But when the great roll of thunder crashed against the side of the mountain, he quickly found himself barking orders against his Company, all of whom were doing their damned best to throw themselves off the damn mountain if it meant getting to the ground faster. If it meant getting to her. And the dwarf that was the most difficult to control was, naturally, Thorin.

“You will keep the King and his companions upon the Gate!” Dwalin roared, shoving Fili and Kili back into the mobbing King’s guard.

“You will release me at once!” Thorin thundered in reply, fighting with every step to shake off the guards who were clamoring to hold him back. Two, four, six, seven, it took eight dwarves to prevent him from moving a single step.

“Dis!” Dwalin swung around, searching for help. She was beside him in an instant, and though her face betrayed no difference in expression, he could see the astonishment in her eyes. He’d known her long enough for that.

“You will keep Thorin upon the gate,” he ordered before turning his way towards the steep stairs leading down the mountainside.

“And where are you going?” At Dis’ question, Thorin spun around and almost growled at Dwalin. Dwalin just glared at the King in reply. He would not be cowed by Thorin, not now.

“Gave the lass my word, and my word, I do not break.” He broke himself away from Thorin’s gaze and turned once again towards his men. “Remember, men! The King remains in the Mountain!” And with those words, Dwalin turned his back upon Erebor and began the treacherous climb down the mountainside.

/////

He was a man possessed.

If Dis did not know better, she would say her brother had grown rabid. 

“Cease your resistance!” She hollered, knocking his hands away from the guardsmen keeping him in the Mountain.

“Dis, you do not understand –“

“No, Thorin, you do not understand!” She crowded in towards him and grabbed his face, forcing him to tear his eyes away from the distant figure on the ground, forcing him to look at her face. “After everything that has been done, after everything that is yet to be said, do you honestly believe she would welcome being dragged back into the mountain, with things standing as they are?”

“She will only be safe with me!” He spat back, the lines on his face crinkling in anger.

“But what of your people, of the men who believe she has betrayed you?”

“Any dwarf who would dare touch her would die!  ** Ugrad ** ** ** ** ashnakh ** !”

“Thorin, enough!” Dis shoved him back, hard, and his shock at being momentarily caught off balance was enough for the soldiers around him to gain a stronger hold. “I know, Thorin. I know,” she murmured, and the fight drained somewhat from the muscles in his shoulders. “But you are not safe outside of the mountain, and until you are ready to share your truth, she would not be truly safe here.”

It was as if he folded in on himself in front of her eyes. “Dis.” His eyes lost their fire, and the blue of his irises began to swim.

“I know,  ** nadad ** ** . ** We will make this right. I promise you that.”

“ ** Amad ** !”

Exhaling slowly, Dis blinked and turned to face her eldest son, who was standing at the edge of the gate. “Fili? What is it?”

“ENOUGH!”

The voice tore through the squabbling dwarves upon the gate, and in the shock that followed, Thorin was able to sprint his way towards the front of the gate. Dis moved after him, locking her arm around his, but any censure died on her lips as the young woman below placed the Elvenking’s sword right next to her neck.

“Kill me.”

Her voice carried on the wind.

“ ** Kurdunuh ** ,” Thorin whispered in agony, and Dis could only tighten her arm against his.

“Do it. DO IT!”

They watched in silent horror as the Elvenking hesitated. One moment, then another, and then his sword was clattering against the ground, and the elves were sheathing their arrows, and the young woman who held the Dwarvenking’s heart tipped over backwards, falling towards the ground, and when Thorin surged to the side towards the mountain stairs, Dis did not stop him. She ran with him.

/////

The world around her tilted in slow motion.

She was aware of a few things as she fell; the pale blue sky, the smattering of clouds that threatened to cover the early-spring sun. Her arms spread themselves away from her body, trying to catch her before she hit her head upon the ground, and she was distantly aware of the fact that she was waiting to feel small, biting gravel beneath her fingers, her body’s way of telling her that she was back on the earth.

But that feeling didn’t come.

Instead, the falling stopped, and her palms remained empty. Her waist, she slowly realized, was being held. She was being held, from behind, and a low, dark voice was murmuring in her ear. She panicked for a moment, thinking she was back on the gate, that she was moments away from falling, from the Thorin who wasn’t her Thorin, and she readied herself to scream – 

“It’s all right, lass, I’ve got ye. Just breathe.”

– And the world snapped back in time with a dizzying clarity. She blinked rapidly, sending her gathered tears down her cold cheeks. She still couldn’t place whose arms were around her, and she felt her breathing grow quick, too quick, she had to slow down, she had to slow her breathing –

“I’ve got ye, lass. I’ve got ye.”

She knew that voice.

“Dwalin?” Gathering her remaining strength, Arya held onto the arms supporting her and turned around in the embrace, and she found herself facing a familiar bald dwarf, who looked simultaneously stricken and overcome with joy.

“Dwalin,” she exhaled in relief, and she fell forward, burying her face against his chest. Her body began to shake, and the tears that she had hoped she had suppressed began to bubble up against her will.

“Aye, lass,” Dwalin’s voice rumbled in his chest, and she could almost hear the emotion in his vibrations. “I’m here. It’ll be all right. Ye’ll see.”

/////

At any other time, Dwalin knew, he would have been easily shot by one of the elves as he scaled his way down the mountain. Thankfully they were much too distracted by the lass – and by Dain’s loud blustering – to pay too much attention to a figure darting in the shadows. He’d reached the bottom of the mountain at the moment Arya ordered  Thranduil to strike her down, and he’d had to remind his legs to keep standing at the fear that wracked his body. He never thought he’d be happy to say that  Thranduil wasn’t a completely cold bastard, as the man had all but recoiled in horror at Arya’s command. The moment she began to fall backwards, Dwalin urged his body forward, past Dain and his One, diving to catch her before her body hit the ground.

That’s where he was now, standing in front of the elvish army, holding the Elvenking’s daughter in his arms as  s he sobbed.

“Ye’ll be all right, lass. Yer safe now.”

/////

Bilbo had been prepared to throw himself forward, to do whatever he could to get Arya away from that blasted sword, but Dwalin had appeared before he’d had the chance. It was just as well, because while Dwalin was attempting to console Arya, Bilbo was attempting (and failing) to console the cat (at least, he thought it was a cat). It had started shrieking the moment Arya walked up to the Elvenking, and it was still shrieking now, and its cries were enough to make an orc army go mad.

“You!” He snapped, turning to look at the creature (and yes, it was a cat). “You are NOT helping. Now quiet down ! ”

Amazingly, the cat quieted down, although it was still letting out a continuous stream of low growling sounds. At least it wasn’t attempting to slice open his sensitive ears anymore merely using its voice. 

Huffing out a breath, Bilbo gently set the contraption containing the cat on the ground and, once that was done, rushed over to Dwalin’s side. Arya was tucked into his arms, her face almost completely  hidden in his chest, but her breaths were too shallow and too fast, and her frame – which was too thin, far too thin – was wracked by almost continuous sobs. 

“Arya, Arya, ”  he grabbed her hand, rubbing it between his own. Her fingers seemed to come to life at his touch, and she gripped his hands like they were her lifeline. “Arya, I need you to breathe.”

“Bilbo,” she sobbed out, turning her head slightly. He could see the tears pooling in her eyes, the countless streaks running down her cheeks. “I’m so – sorry –“

“No!” Bilbo scolded ,  barely resisting the urge to shake his finger at her. “You, my dear, have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Do you hear me? Nothing.”

She began to gasp for breath as she shook her head. “I – I – “

“Do  _ not  _ try to fight with me about this young lady, I can assure you, this is one battle that you won’t win. Now, can you  take some deep breaths for me? I don’t want you to faint again.”

“I didn’t faint – it’s – panic attack. Lots of symptoms. Sweating, shakiness, shortness of breath,” she began to pant out,  and she slumped in Dwalin’s arms . “Choking, chest pain, dizziness, nausea, heat flashes, chills, feeling – feeling numb –“

“ Yes, yes, okay, I understand, just breathe, all right? Just close your eyes and breathe. Just breathe.”

Her eyes slid shut, and her breaths became steadier.

“Good, good. Just breathe.”

/////

“Mithrandir, you will allow us through!”

“My apologies, King of the Woodland Realm, but as the appointed protector of the line of Aredhel, I have deemed it not in the best interest of Arya Callahan at present to allow you passage!”

“She is my daughter!”

“Funny, that that should mean so much to you now!”

Tauriel turned her attention from Gandalf and Thranduil to the men of Dale who, at Bard’s signal, began to funnel their horses between the dwarves and the elves, ensuring that neither party would be able to cross in and reach Arya, who was now beyond Tauriel’s sight.

_ Watch over her in my absence, as you would watch over your own. _

_ Promise me. _

She turned, and her eyes met Glorfindel. She exhaled, shakily,  and he nodded his head.

“ Haladen !” Tauriel slid  off her horse and turned to find her second-in-command seated at attention.

_ “Man ceril?” _

Wordlessly, Tauriel slipped off her silver bracers and handed them to Haladen. He paled at the sight. “Captain –“

“No. Just Tauriel, now. You will do well, Captain.”

Haladen nodded stiffly, gently taking the bracers from her hands. “They will await you upon your return.”

Tauriel bowed in acknowledgment, although she felt in her heart that those bracers were no longer meant to be hers. Turning around, she silently crept up alongside Legolas and Thranduil, who were still – loudly – arguing with Gandalf, although it appeared several of Bard’s advisors had joined in the conversation.

“  – disgraceful behavior –  ” 

“ – allow us passage through or we will carve our way -  ”

Stopping alongside Legolas’ horse, Tauriel laid down her bow, quiver, and both silver daggers.

Legolas’ eyes snapped towards her at the movement, and his expression turned from anger into horror. “Tauriel!”

_ You will not falter. Not now.  _ Casting her head towards the ground, she turned away from the prince – her  _ former  _ prince – and stepped into the fray of horses and men, ignoring Legolas’ cries. He was not her concern now.

/////

Gandalf could hardly hear himself think over the cacophony of noise. The elves were up in arms over Gandalf preventing Thranduil’s movement, and the dwarves – well, he could hardly accuse the dwarves of being cool-tempered on their best days, which is why he struck his staff against the ground and let his voice drown out all the rest.

“ENOUGH!” His holler snapped darkly against the mountainside.

With a sharp sigh, Gandalf turned to face Bard, who had all but thrown himself off his saddle and raced to put himself between the dwarves and Arya upon seeing her collapse. “King Bard of Dale, on behalf of the line of Aredhel, I would ask that sanctuary be granted to Arya Callahan – and Bilbo Baggins, should he need it,” he added as an afterthought. Several dwarves from hollered angrily in reply, and unless he was mistaken, the voices of the Company – which he knew as well as his own – sounded much closer than they were upon Arya’s arrival.

“Sanctuary is granted,” Bard nodded. He motioned to his men to hold the line, and at Gandalf’s quick wave, followed Gandalf  into the fold.

“How is she?” Gandalf murmured,  coming to a stop next to Bilbo, Arya, and – surprisingly – Dwalin.

“She’s focusing on breathing right now,” Bilbo replied. Dwalin added nothing. He merely tightened his grip on the young woman, shooting a scrutinizing glance at Gandalf and Bard.

Gandalf shot a look at Bard, whose face was  drawn in  abject concern . “Allow me, Master Baggins , Master Fundinson . I will take her into Dale.”

“No.” The  four men turned to see Tauriel approach – Tauriel, without her Guard’s bracers, without her weapons. Bard’s eyes widened at the sight, but he said nothing. She stepped forward , coming to a stop  between Bard and Gandalf. “You are needed here. I will take her into Dale.”

“Tauriel.” Bard’s voice was low and saddened.

“I gave my word ,” she replied lowly, placing her arm on Bard’s. “ There is no greater honor than in fulfilling that.”

He nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Sanctuary is granted to you as well, should it be required. ”

“Master Dwalin,” Gandalf turned his eyes back upon the dwarf, whose scrutinizing gaze was now on Tauriel. “I believe it is in Miss Callahan’s best interests to accept Bard’s offer.”

Dwalin exhaled sharply, once, twice. Ignoring Gandalf, he lifted Arya and carried her over to Tauriel, stopping mere inches away from the elf-maiden. If Bilbo or Bard or even Tauriel herself was shocked by this, none of them betrayed it. “You will keep her safe,” Dwalin stated. Not a question, Gandalf surmised, but an order. A threat.

“With my life.”

He nodded once. Leaning down, he murmured something into Arya’s ear. She nodded, and Dwalin passed her into Tauriel’s waiting arms.

Bard took this movement as a signal. “ Holgeir! Helgrim!” Bard stood and turned, walking over to the two guards he had just summoned. “Gather Miss Callahan’s things. You will then escort Tauriel and Miss Callahan into Dale. Take them to Sigrid, she will ready a room in the house.”

“You will escort Master Baggins as well,” Dwalin gruffed out , drawing Bard’s attention back to him.

Gandalf watched as Bilbo’s kind face drew back in sadness. “Dwalin –“

“ _ Ghivashel _ ,” Dwalin turned to face Bilbo, “ go with her. I will send for you later.”

Bilbo’s eyes grew bright with tears, and Gandalf turned away from the scene, allowing them their moment of privacy. “She needs you,” her heard Dwalin murmur. “Go.”

“ Yes, yes, you’re quite right. No, ah, thank you, but I will handle this particular parcel!”  With one last look at his husband, Bilbo turned back to the now assembling escorts , pick ed up the container holding Arya’s feline companion and follow ed after the guards.

/////

“I am trusting ye to keep her safe.”

Bard glanced down at fierce-looking dwarf standing across from him and nodded, doing his best to remain as composed as possible. “The armies of Dale shall be her protection, should that prove necessary.”

“The armies of Dale?” Bard heard Thranduil call from behind him. “And here I thought Dale was to remain a peaceful arbiter between the nations.”

“It was, until you held your sword to your own daughter’s neck!” Bard whirled around to face the Elvenking, knowing that he now held the attention of every person within their immediate vicinity.

Thranduil’s eyes flashed as he stepped towards Bard. “I would have never harmed her!”

“I have heard that before. Don’t you recall what happened next? She was almost thrown off the top of the Mountain!” Bard ignored the sounds of  dwarvish anger behind him, keeping his ire solely focused on  Thranduil . “Seeing as the people of Dale are the  _ only _ nation present who have not threatened Miss Callahan’s life, it remains clear to me that she is safest amongst us.” He stepped back, and at the motion, his armored guard moved into a flanking position behind him.

“I have stayed silent for far too long, believing it was in Dale's best interest to remain neutral,” Bard continued, his gaze flickering between the  Elvenking on his left and the newly-arrived King Under the Mountain on his right. “But I find I now agree with Miss Callahan.”

“What exactly are you saying, then?” Thranduil replied coldly.

“That you both will find a way to make peace, and if you do not, you can cease considering yourself to be an ally of Dale.” Bard whirled around and signaled for his men to follow him. “Send for me when you are ready to talk. Until then, I have a mistreated lady to attend to.”

/////

Thranduil motioned for one of his guards to pick up his fallen sword, his cold eyes still trained on Bard’s retreating figure. “What are we to do now?” He heard Legolas whisper from behind him.

“That remains entirely up to you,” Mithrandir exhaled.  Thranduil turned his angry glare upon him, but as usual, the wizard did not seem in the least intimidated by it. “I believe you both have many things to discuss,” he continued, his eyes flickering over to Thorin  Oakenshield and his entourage. “Separately, and then together.”

“And what if I refuse?”

Now it was Gandalf’s turn to glare, and though he would never admit it,  Thranduil felt a little unsteady at the sight. “Then you risk losing your daughter forever. And I cannot imagine that her mother would take too kindly to that upon your arrival in  Valinor .”

“ _ Adar,”  _ Legolas whispered behind him.

Thranduil broke his eyes away from Gandalf and turned towards his people. “Come, Mithrandir. It seems we have things to discuss.”

And if he heard Gandalf offering quietly whispered counsel to the dwarves before he followed, he chose to ignore it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOW HAS IT BEEN FIVE MONTHS SINCE I'VE POSTED? I've literally been thinking about this story EVERY SINGLE DAY but this chapter was just absolutely and entirely terrible and no matter how long I stare into a crystal ball, the plot eludes me. At least we got this out of the way. Am I happy with it? No. But does it feel good to be able to finally move on from this? Yes. Get ready for a lot of heart-to-hearts in the next chapter (or two, depending on how long the next section is), and send good vibes my way so I can write it without crying or something. Love you all!


	5. The Time for Talk

“Milady,” Dagna rushed into the courtyard. “Milady, the healer – she’s arrived!”

_Although the other women had advised her against it, Sigrid had stood upon the battlements of the King’s house, watching as her father rode off with Gandalf towards the great host gathered at the entrance to Erebor. Bain and Tilda had wanted to stand watch with her, but she’d pulled rank and ordered them inside with the rest of the children. She could barely call Bain a child anymore – which was his loudly-voiced argument as Dagna and Lene led them away – but she _was _in charge. Her younger siblings had survived the great battle without seeing death; she wanted that innocence to remain for them, as long as possible. (And if she wished to seek out golden hair upon the Ereborian battlements alone, well, her worries were her own business.)_

_But then the great thunder had struck again, the echo of the one the Elven-queen had called down years ago, and Sigrid raced into the courtyard._

“Where is Inge?” Sigrid questioned, turning to look at the frantic come-and-go of her fellow noblewomen.

“She’s finishing up the guest chambers, milady,” Marta, Inge’s young daughter replied. Inge’s husband was one of the men who had perished in the great battle, and upon Bard’s coronation, he had taken it upon himself to ensure that Inge and her family would be taken care of by giving them a position in the house.

She nodded in thanks at Marta just as Katrine began to squeal. “Lady Tauriel!”

The redheaded elf swept in, her feet barely making a sound against the old stone. Sigrid rushed forward, her eyes glued upon the motionless figure in Tauriel’s arms. “What has happened?”

“She lost consciousness on our walk here,” Tauriel replied, her brow wrinkled in worry.

Sigrid stepped closer, her eyes cataloguing Arya’s frame. She looked frailer than Sigrid had remembered, and her cheeks had lost most of their color. Dark circles under her eyes betrayed her exhaustion, and though her breaths appeared labored, they were steady.

“She needs rest. Come,” Sigrid said, leading Tauriel across the courtyard and into the King’s house. “Inge has prepared a room in the guest wing.”

“Aye, and not a moment too soon,” the older woman replied. Her dark hair was streaked with gray, and her obvious anxiety made the lines on her face all the more prominent. “The chamber is prepared, milady.”

Sigrid stepped back, allowing Tauriel and Arya to enter the small room, and no sooner had she glanced back towards the courtyard than she glimpsed Bilbo Baggins carrying an unwieldly box that seemed to be growling at him.

“Master Baggins, are you all right?” Sigrid asked in concern, watching as he struggled down the corridor towards her.

“Oh, yes, I’m quite all right, thank you my dear – and that is quite enough out of you!” Bilbo scolded the box, disappearing into the room after Tauriel.

“Lady Sigrid,” Inge stuck her head out of the room, “if it is not too much trouble, do ye mind asking Svana to brew some of her mother’s tea?”

“Not at all,” Sigrid replied. She turned and quickly made her way back down the corridor towards the great kitchen and all but collided with her father.

“Da!”

“Sigrid, is she –“

“She’s in one of the guest rooms, Inge –“

“Say no more.” Pressing a quick kiss to Sigrid’s head, he made his way towards the room, flanked by several of his counselors and guardsmen.

“Is there anything ye need, milady?” Marta rushed up towards her.

“Oh, Marta. Would you be so kind as to fetch some of Svana’s mother’s tea?”

“Of course, milady,” Marta nodded before disappearing off to the kitchens.

“I still cannot believe it!” Sigrid’s friend Katrine raced to her side. “She’s back! And after all this time! The city may go mad!”

“Yes,” Sigrid murmured, turning her head briefly towards the mountain. “And we will not be the only one.”

/////

To say the whole of Erebor was in an uproar was an understatement. Dwalin hadn’t heard so much noise within its halls since Smaug’s arrival many, many years ago. Still, he forcefully shoved his way through the massive throngs of citizens gathered outside the Great Hall, shouting every curse he knew to get the other dwarves to move out of his way.

“Dwalin!” He felt an arm grab hold of him, and he turned to find a frantic-looking Bofur stopping him. “What happened?”

“Where is the King?” Dwalin ignore Bofur’s question, shaking his arm loose from the clean-shaven dwarf’s grasp.

“The Council has called an emergency meeting! He’s -”

Dwalin grunted and turned away. “Move!” He roared, and the last of the dwarves standing between him and the Great Hall scurried out of the way.

The Great Hall itself was somewhat quieter than the surrounding halls, but not by much. Even from the back of the room, Dwalin could see that his brother was struggling – and failing – to establish some sense of order.

A roar bubbled up within his chest. “**SHAZARA**!”

The room fell into a blessed quiet at the sound. “Ah, Dwalin!” He heard Vorn spit from his position at the large table. “Care to you explain your actions before the court?”

The dwarves now standing between Dwalin and the table parted perfectly in half, allowing Dwalin to stalk forward, his glare entirely focused on the counselor. “I was doing my duty.”

“Your duty is to your King!” Vorn leapt to his feet.

“Aye, it is. But my duty is also to those that I have sworn eternal fealty to. Bilbo is one, and the lass is the other.”

“Aye, and both are traitors to Erebor!”

“The _only _traitors to Erebor are those would speak against them!” Fili leapt to his feet, his voice quivering with a tone of rage that Dwalin had only ever heard come out of Thorin’s mouth. “We would not be here if not for them! There would be no Erebor!”

“Not to mention, there would be no line of Durin,” Dis added in, glaring at Vorn. “You will do well to watch your tongue.”

Glorn elbowed Vorn sharply in the side. “Apologies, my lady,” the dwarf muttered out, though he still looked angry as he sank back into his chair.

“The wee lass is the only reason we are not at war _now_,” Dain chimed in. “Such a brave, wee thing. Placed herself in front of that damned elf’s sword like it were nothing.”

“Unfortunately, our problem remains,” Elgrim spoke up, and a murmur of assent rippled through the dwarves around Dwalin. “We still must decide what we are to do regarding the elves.”

“I still say -”

“We _all _know what you think, Councilor Vorn,” Balin spoke tiredly. “But if there is a way to make it through the fortnight without spilling a drop of our people’s blood, I would advise that we seek it out.”

“How is she?”

Dwalin’s gaze was drawn upward. Kili was leaning forward across the table, concern written plainly on his face, and Dwalin was certain it was only Dis’ strict instructions that had prevented him from vaulting the table upon Dwalin’s appearance. He glanced over towards Thorin, who was looking up for the first time since Dwalin had entered the room. “She is -”

_Far too thin, _he wanted to say. _Far too thin and far too small and she felt so fragile, Thorin, how did we not see how easy it would be to break her? The circles under her eyes are as dark and as deep as our deepest mines. She was shaking so hard I feared a breeze would sweep her away. And she was scared, Thorin. So scared, just like she was back then, right before - _

_“_Upset. I think.” He looked away from Thorin and back towards Kili.

“She’s upset.” Vorn scoffed again. “Thank you for your considerable input, Dwalin son of Fundin.”

“Enough!” Princess Dis leapt to her feet, and the din in the hall died down once again. “The time has come for us to make a very important choice. A choice that will determine the future of Erebor for generations to come, if not the lives of future dwarves themselves. The time for games and smart remarks is over,” she said, her eyes darting towards Vorn. “Now is the time for truth.”

“Aye,” Niran assented quickly, ignoring the dirty looks the –Orn clan shot his way.

Elgrim cleared his throat, and for the first time, Dwalin detected a hint of nerves in the dwarf’s voice. “Yer Majesty,” he began, “given the events that have taken place today, and the day of the battle almost three years ago, I think – no, I believe – that the time has come, if it has not already passed us by -”

“Spit it out, lad!” Dain snapped from across the table. “What is it ye are trying to say?”

“Ahem, yes,” Elgrim grunted again. By now all eyes in the room were locked on him. “I believe there are certain circumstances regarding what occurred in those years past that may, perhaps, shed some light on what happened earlier today. We on the council – or, I should say, I have – gathered that the topic of the former healer of your Company was a, uh, subject that was not to be broached. But if there is anything regarding her person or role in the journey that may assist us in discerning how to move forward at this juncture, I would respectfully request that the Company give that testimony.”

~

“I suppose it is no wonder that you have favored the dwarves in all of this.” Thranduil was pacing in his large tent, one that had been hastily constructed at the edge of the wood near Erebor. Several fair-haired elves were racing in and out of the shelter, while several others were either seated or standing at the Elvenking’s attention. Legolas had taken up his place at his father’s side, his angered gaze shifting between his father and Gandalf. Gandalf, however, had been on the receiving end of too many glares from Belladonna Took to be intimidated.

“If I can truly be accused of favoring anyone, it would be of favoring hobbits, seeing as hobbits are the only race to walk Middle-Earth that do not seek death and vengeance in reparation for their wounded pride!” Gandalf retorted, causing Thranduil to stop moving and glare at him.

“Wounded pride?!”

“Yes, wounded pride! I could say it was to your credit that you were able to overcome it when your daughter’s life was at risk, but that hardly seems like it should be a laudable accomplishment.”

Thranduil drew near Gandalf, his magic rippling across him in a dark distortion. “I would never have harmed her!”

“You already have!” Gandalf thundered back, and the few lanterns in the tent flickered at the sound of his voice. “If not physically, then at the very least hurt her spirit, if not her trust in you.”

At that Thranduil’s brow furrowed and he stepped back, his magic calming down. “All I have wanted is for her to be safe.”

“Yes, and you want her to be like her mother,” Gandalf’s voice was softer and quieter now. “And in many ways, she is. But in many other ways she is not.”

“What is it that you are not saying, Mithrandir?”

“That it is a good thing she arrived when she did, that she prevented you from declaring war on the dwarves. You cannot yet comprehend the depth of her attachment to the dwarves of Erebor, and of them to her. Knowing that her father, for that is what you are, had either killed those that she cared about or was killed by them would have irreparably broken her spirit.”

Thranduil’s eyes grew stormy. “What do you mean by depth of attachment?”

~

Dwalin didn’t know if he should be impressed by or terrified for Elgrim. Neither did any of the dwarves, for in a room near-filled with five hundred dwarves, you couldn’t hear a single one of them breathe.

"I agree with Councilor Elgrim.”

Dwalin’s gaze darted over to Princess Dis so fast he got whiplash. She had turned to face Thorin, who looked stricken, his eyes downcast in sorrow. “They deserve to hear your truth, brother. And you deserve to speak it.”

Silence.

One moment.

Two.

Thorin reached for Dis’ hand.

She took it, and Thorin rose to his feet.

~

Gandalf did not reply.

“I know you heard me, Mithrandir. What do you mean by depth of attachment?!”

He sighed. “I am not certain that you are ready to know.”

“That is not a judgment for you to make. Now, tell me: what do you mean by the depth of her attachment to the dwarves, and of theirs to her?”

“Each member of the Company feels very strongly for Arya,” Gandalf began. “But there is one who feels for her far more than the others.”

Thranduil’s gaze grew cold and sharp. “Who?”

~

“Much has been said about our reclamation of Erebor,” Thorin began. Every other dwarf in the room, and surely in the surrounding halls, stood in complete attention to their King. “It has been the greatest honor of my life, being your King. But I am not the dwarf you believe I am.”

Now Dis tried to interrupt. “Thorin -”

He held up his hand and Dis fell silent. “I gained many things during our quest. I gained the support and undeserving loyalty of many dwarves I had never known before, all of whom I now consider to be kin. I gained confidence in the strength of our line, seeing the honor and dignity of my nephews as they navigated unfriendly waters. I gained a greater understanding of what it means to be a good man and a good king from a place I’d never expect.” His eyes rested on Dwalin. “We do not give hobbits enough credit for the many things they know.”

A soft chuckle echoed around the room, and for a moment, it looked like Thorin was about to smile. “And somehow, in spite of all that we suffered, we were able to reclaim Erebor, our ancestral home.” That hint now fell from his lips. “But none of these things, not even the might of Erebor, compares to the other thing I found during our quest. Or, should I say, that which found me.” Thorin glanced downward and took a deep breath. “For it was on this quest to Erebor that I gained perhaps the greatest blessing Mahal can grant to any dwarf: the knowledge of my One.”

The room broke out into whispers, but all were silenced by a glare from Dis. Thorin didn’t seem to notice. “Truth be told, I had long given up on the hope of finding my One. We had already lost so much – I had already lost so much, and our numbers were so few. I didn’t expect that I would recognize the heart of my One in a person who was not a dwarf, and I certainly didn’t expect that she would turn out to be the headstrong human girl who forced her way into my Company.

“I am a stubborn man,” he continued. He glanced up, and Dwalin could see that Thorin’s eyes were glistening with tears. “I believe I knew, from the very moment we met, but I was determined never to accept it. But if you knew her – if you got to know her – well, not even my stubbornness stood a chance.”

Thorin broke off, and his eyes dropped to the ground again. Silence reigned in the chamber.

“What is it you are saying, laddie?” Dain finally spoke, brow furrowed in disbelief.

“Arya Callahan is my One.” Dwalin could see Thorin’s hands shaking, even from as far away as he was, and he could practically sense the self-loathing bursting forth from Thorin’s chest. “Arya is my One, and I forsake her.”

Elgrim slowly rose to his feet, shaking his head in shock. “My Lord -”

“I would have killed her! I would have thrown her from the Gate for that blasted stone, and I almost did! She had even selected my gharâf in my very presence and it meant _nothing_!” Thorin’s voice was now coming out in a roar. “She trusted me! She looked me in the eyes and said she loved me and I _hated _her!”

Now Balin leapt to his knees, his eyes shining with tears for his King. “Thorin, that was not your fault, we were all affected by the dragon-sickness -”

“No, Balin, we were not all affected! She was not! Neither was Bilbo! And even after everything I had done, she saved my life, she risked her life for mine!” The words left Thorin in a rush, and suddenly all the anger and energy he’d been expelling disappeared. The King of Erebor deflated in front of their eyes. “And if not for the intervention of the elves, she would have paid the price.

“So, now you see the King you have chosen to lead Erebor. A weak, disloyal dwarf who should be exiled for his actions. I do not deserve this crown. And I deserve her even less.”

Thorin sat back down upon his chair to thundering silence.

~

“You lie!”

“No matter how much you may dislike it, Thranduil, it is the truth.”

“No. I will not accept it, I refuse to accept it!”

“You may be a King, but not even you have the right to deny a dwarf his One!”

“I am her father, I have the only right!” Thranduil spat, the tent growing dark with his anger. “And if you think for a moment that I will allow this -”

“Oh, you’re _going _to allow it,” a new voice spoke.

All at once the color fled from Thranduil’s face. He whirled around and Gandalf’s gaze followed suit, his eyes resting upon a figure he hadn’t seen in well over an age.

“Hello, Mithrandir,” Elizabeth Callahan spoke warmly, though her glare was cold and fixed upon her husband. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with my husband and son. In private.”

“Of course, my lady,” Gandalf replied. He fixed his eyes upon the remaining elves and at his nod, they emptied the tent.

“Elbereth.”

“Thranduil. It has been a long time.”

~

“What happens now?”

All the eyes in the room shot towards Niran, who cowered under the sudden onslaught of attention.

“What do ye mean, lad?” Dain asked as he massaged his temples with his fingers.

“Well, she’s back, isn’t she?” Niran’s gaze darted towards Thorin. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing.”

The heads of every council member snapped towards Thorin, who seemed to sink even further back into his chair. “There is nothing I could do to ever repair the harm that I have caused. No price I could pay to earn her forgiveness, let alone her love. I will do nothing.”

“No!”

“ - laddie -”

“Uncle, you could fade!” Kili’s eyes welled up in tears, and he gazed at Thorin like he was seeing him clearly for the first time.

“If that is Mahal’s will.”

The room fell into a sort of horrified silence. The councilors around the table glanced at each other, none of them quite certain what they could possibly say next. Fili looked panicked, Kili looked distraught, and Dis looked like she couldn’t decide between bursting into tears and strangling her brother and probably would have settled on some combination of the two if Dwalin's fury hadn't overwhelmed him.

_“_Bull-shite!”

The heads of the royal family and the council swung to him. Balin, who was desperately trying – and failing – to maintain his composure leapt to his feet at Dwalin’s outburst. “Dwalin, that sort of language -”

“Save it for yer pupils, brother. I call BULL-SHITE!” Dwalin roared again and began stalking up towards the long table. “Ye seem to be forgetting one thing, yer majesty!”

“Oh? And what is that?” _Good, _Dwalin thought. _Thorin is getting agitated_.

“The lass didn’t _have _to come back here, now did she? She said so to the Elvenking, that this was her choice! That if she did not return, all that she loved would be lost! She risked her life for us, for _you_, again, and the very least ye could do was act like that meant something!”

Thorin growled, leaping to his feet. “How dare you -”

“Ye are not a perfect man, Thorin! I’ve known ye since we were beardless lads!” Dwalin came to a stop in front of Thorin’s chair. “I still believe ye are a good man and a good king. But if ye do nothing - if you take the coward’s way out and let the lass slip away – then I won’t mourn yer fade, because the Thorin I knew wouldn’t go out without a fight.” Dwalin’s eyes flickered towards Dis, who started at the look in his eyes. “Ye deserve to be happy. And more than that, the lass deserves to be happy. And if yer too much of a coward to make her happy – well, let’s just say I saw the way the new King of Dale was watching her before he spirited her away. I’m sure he’d be more than willing to make sure she was taken care of.”

Dwalin could have sworn that the room took a collective gasp. Thorin’s face, which for so long had been as emotionless as stone, was growing more and more thunderous. “You lie.”

“I have never lied to ye, Thorin. But ye know that my loyalty lies with my family. Arya _is _my family, and that lass has walked through hell and back for ye. She killed Azog the Defiler to protect yet, for Mahal’s sake! After everything the lass has done, she deserves someone who will fight just as hard for her, and if ye won’t, well, we know Bard has got quite a lot of fight in him! Besides, she stayed with him and ‘is family in Lake-town, didn’t she? And where is she sleeping now?”

Thorin’s eyes sparked to life. “You go too far!”

“Nae, Thorin! I will go as far as I must to knock some sense into yer thick head!” Dwalin roared, shoving Thorin back into his chair. Thorin growled again in response and leapt up, as if he was going to throttle Dwalin himself. “Now is time to make yer choice, Thorin.” Dwalin stepped back, well in view of the rest of the councilors. “What sort of man and king are ye going to be? Are ye going to waste away like yer grandfather, or are ye going to fight for yer One?"

Thorin stared at Dwalin in shock. “I - she -”

“Did she truly kill Azog the Defiler?”

“That is your takeaway from all this?” Fili gaped at councilor Glorn in disbelief.

Glorn shrugged. “She’s a brave lass. I have no love for the elves, but if she’s yer one, yer Majesty, then I say ye do what it takes.”

“Even though it means a peace treaty with the elves?” Dis began slowly. “Even though it would mean laying ages of war to rest?”

“A truce may not be an awful idea, no matter how I hate those tree-shaggers,” Vorn admitted, although it looked like it pained him to say it.

“She _is _the adopted daughter of Thranduil,” Balin murmured slowly. “That will mean a very close tie between our peoples, should we succeed.”

“Who better to reason in our favor with the Elvenking than his daughter?” Niran remarked thoughtfully.

“I concur,” Elgrim replied with a decisive nod. “If she is yer One, yer Majesty, it would not matter if she even was an elf. It is not for us to argue with the will of Mahal.”

“It appears the council is unanimous,” Dis finally spoke, and when Dwalin’s eyes flickered over to the princess, it was to find her beaming at him in triumph. He turned to look at the whole of the senior council, and all of them were nodding at Thorin (and Dis) in approval, although he could tell Vorn still remained less than pleased at the prospect of working with elves.

“I - I – I do not deserve this,” Thorin replied, almost brokenly.

“It is as Balin said, cousin,” Dain stood and took the floor. “The dragon-sickness took us all, and whatever debts ye incurred ye have repaid in full.” Dain walked over to Thorin and grabbed hold of him by the shoulders. “I would see ye be happy, Thorin. I would see ye spending the rest of yer days with yer One. What say you, Erebor? Do ye agree?”

Dain turned to face the room, and the response from the Great Hall – and beyond – was thunderous applause.

“Well, Thorin?” He said, turning back to the King. “The choice is up to you.”

Thorin stared at the ground for a few moments longer, and when he raised his eyes, he was looking at Dwalin. “This may prove to be our most dangerous quest yet. Will you follow me, one last time?”

“Aye,” Dwalin replied without hesitation.

“Aye!”

“Aye!”

“AYE!” The chamber swelled into noise.

Dain leapt to his feet and crowed and triumph. “To the King!”

“To the King!” The gathered host replied, and though the rest of the dwarves cried out in resounding cheers, Dwalin’s only focus was on the small glimpse of life he saw flicker in Thorin’s eyes.

And Dwalin smiled.

/////

The first thing she noticed was the small, warm body curled up on her chest, purring in time with her breaths. She blinked, and Binx’s face came into view.

“Hi,” Arya murmured, and Binx meowed warmly, rubbing his face against her own. “God, what a weird dream.”

“You’re awake!”

She frowned. _This can’t be right. _

“We were quite worried about you.”

_There it was again. _

“Bilbo?” Arya murmured. She tore her eyes away from a purring Binx and turned her head to the side, and there he was. Bilbo Baggins, in a ruby red suit-coat and light brown trousers, sitting in an oversized chair right next to her.

Bilbo’s eyes softened, and in a matter of blinks his eyes were welling up. “Oh, my dear. I am so very glad to see you.”

“Bilbo,” she murmured again. Forgetting Binx, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Binx gracefully leapt into her lap, although he protested loudly at the sudden movement. “Bilbo?”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“I -”

_Tell your men to drop their weapons. Now._

_Ye’d have better luck wishing for the sky to fall. We will never treat with the elves!_

_Do it. DO IT!_

“Yes,” Arya whispered. “I remember.”

“Good, good.”

“How did I get here?”

“I carried you.” She turned her head away from Bilbo just in time to see Tauriel breeze her way into the room. Right. She was in a room now. It was cozy, made of mismatched bricks. There was a roaring fire behind Bilbo’s chair, and Tauriel drew the small curtains back from the window across Arya’s bed so she could catch a glimpse of the dusky sky. “This will be your room while you remain with Bard.”

“Bard. Where is he?”

“He is meeting with his counselors,” Tauriel replied, sinking down on the end of Arya’s bed. “The elves and the dwarves are discussing today’s events amongst themselves, and the people of Dale are doing the same.”

“Besides, you will not get any rest in a crowded room. You will see Bard in the morning,” Bilbo replied with a nod. “Now, can we get you anything? Perhaps some dinner, or a nice cup of tea?”

Arya shook her head. “Just some water is fine.”

“Hmmm. If you are certain.” Bilbo turned in his chair, poured some water out of a clay pitcher and handed Arya a small mug.

Shutting her eyes, Arya gulped down its cool contents. She _knew _that she was here, that she’d journeyed back, but feeling the cold liquid race down her throat was a pleasant reminder that this wasn’t just a dream.

(She’d had one too many of those.)

Inhale. Exhale.

She handed the small mug back to Bilbo, who graciously took it out of her hands. “You stayed with me. Both of you?”

Bilbo began to sputter. “Of course we did! You didn’t honestly think I would wander off someplace else, did you?”

“You are not alone, _mellon_,” Tauriel concurred with a saddened smile. “Not then, and not now.”

“I could not have said it better myself,” Bilbo smiled good-naturedly. Then, his face once again taking on a more serious expression, he turned so his entire person was facing Arya. “Now, before you get some more rest, I was wondering, my dear, if you had a bit of time to share with us.”

“Share what?”

“What happened _after._”

A soft rush of wind, of white noise, waves that threatened to crash through her ears.

“It might take a while.”

“Thankfully, we have plenty of time.” Bilbo leaned back in his chair, and Tauriel tucked her legs up under her. Both of them watched her expectantly.

“Time,” Arya murmured. “I suppose we do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very happy with the meeting of the dwarves - and Thranduil's argument with Gandalf - but I'm less thrilled with the other parts. But, we need to keep this story a-moving, so here it is!


	6. Exile

_Arya’s vision swam. She was on the ground. Why was she on the ground? And since when were there hardwood floors anywhere near Erebor?_

_“ - going on up there?!”_

_She blinked, and her hands came into focus. Her hands, her bloody hands, hands pressed again the hardwood floor, hands that began to shake at the sound of the approaching voice._

_“ - setting off fireworks, young lady, I swear!” _

_The sound of a door swinging open. A familiar voice that she thought she’d never hear again._

_“ - Arya? Arya?!”_

_“No, no, no.” Tears swim in her vision. Her eyes drift upwards of her own accord, and she recognizes those walls, walls she lived in for so long, and the flickering lights and the old windows and her downstairs neighbor looking at her in horror._

_“No!” Is it a gasp? Is it a scream? Whatever it is, it’s like her heart has been wrenched out of her chest, and the tears come hard and fast and no matter how long she scrapes her hands across the ground, the wood floors don’t disappear._

_“ - Arya, Arya, Arya -” Arms wrap around her, warm arms, arms that stop her from rubbing her hands raw against a floor that’s still there, why is it still there? “Just breathe, just breathe.” The arms pull her close, tucking her against a soft shoulder, and the fight leaves all at once until there is just sorrow._

_The scene changes. She’s still in that old yet familiar place, but she’s sitting in an old porcelain tub, watching blood that isn’t hers run down the drain. She lifts her hands from the now lukewarm water. Her fingers are rough and wrinkled and how can these possibly be her hands?_

_“There we go,” the voice she knows – Ms. Harrison, no, Eleanor, from downstairs – sweeps the last of her matted hair into a bag. “Nice and clean. A very tidy trim, if I do say so myself._

_“So.” She’s sitting on her old couch now, dressed in a crewneck sweatshirt from her alma mater and swaddled in a quilt Eleanor brought up from her apartment. Her hair is still wet, and the wet ends of her now short hair tickle the back of her neck. “Care to tell me what happened?”_

_Arya glances down, watching the tea leaves diffuse within her oversized mug. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”_

_Eleanor huffs. “Try me.”_

_“_Arya?”

“Hmm?” She looked at Bilbo.

He looked at her in concern. “You were saying?”

“Oh, right, what happened after,” Arya murmured. Binx took the opportunity to hop back onto her lap, and Arya automatically began to run her fingers through his fur. “Right, well, when I got – back – my downstairs neighbor found me. And I told her everything.”

_It was dark by the time Arya had finished. Her throat was sore from speaking, and the tea in her hands was entirely cold. Eleanor’s face hadn’t changed at all during Arya’s story. She simply stayed silent, and once the story was over, she remained silent, watching Arya thoughtfully. _

_“You got a tough cut of the pie, dear,” she finally spoke. _

_Arya’s gaze whipped up to her in shock. “You - you -”_

_“Believe you? Of course I do.” Eleanor snorted, as if she was offended that Arya had doubted her. “You’re not the only one whose done some traveling.”_

_“Wait, you -”_

_“ - traveled here a long, long time ago. But that is a story for another time.” Eleanor set her own (empty) mug down and leaned towards Arya, grasping hold of her hands. “I am so sorry that you have suffered so much, although I do believe that you did the right thing in the end.”_

_Tears pricked at her eyes again. “What happens now?”_

_“Now, you get some sleep. We’ll worry about everything else tomorrow.”_

_“_Well, I’m certainly glad you had someone to talk to about what had happened. I have found that talking things out truly helps.”

“Yeah.”

(I needed all the help I could get.)

_“Now, you get some sleep. We’ll worry about everything else tomorrow.”_

_That was easier said than done, of course. Every time she closed her eyes, she was seeing Fili’s insides pulsing within his ribcage, or the deep gashes in Kili’s torso, or Thorin’s slowly beating heart in her own hands and all it would take is one slip of her suture and she’d lose him forever - _

_The nightmares didn’t cease after that first night. Days turned into weeks and she watched herself lose **them **and **him **over and over and over again until she briefly considered pulling a Nightmare on Elm Street and never sleeping again. She obsessively packed and re-packed her emergency Middle-Earth bags that she kept stationed by her door, and for the first few weeks, she didn’t even leave her apartment._

_Eleanor was a godsend. She visited Arya every day, bringing her food to make sure she ate, refilled glasses so Arya stayed hydrated, and prescribed every sort of tea imaginable to help Arya sleep._

_But Arya wasn’t getting better. _

_And the more time that passed, the more she feared that she would never return, that she would be stuck in her world forever, and what was the point of life after everything she’d lost?_

_It was a Tuesday when Eleanor finally put her foot down. At least, she thought it was a Tuesday. Eleanor always brought tacos on Tuesday, and she’d brought some homemade tacos that day._

_“I hate to do this to you my dear, but this has gone on long enough.” Eleanor crossed the room of Arya’s small abode, flanked by several of her cats who now joined in her daily visits, and threw open the curtains into Arya’s living room._

_Arya started slightly from her spot on the couch. “Eleanor?”_

_Eleanor turned back to face Arya, and her expression was stern. “I refuse to watch you spend another moment wasting away in this apartment, waiting for something that may never come.”_

_Her eyes filled up with tears, again. Fuck, but she was tired of crying. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Arya whispered, and Eleanor’s face softened. “What I saw there – what I lived through – everyone I met – how can anything else ever compare? How can I bear living when every day I’m reminded of everything I lost?”_

_“You find a good therapist, for starters,” Eleanor said not unkindly as she sat down next to Arya on the couch. “You accept the fact that you can’t go back into the past, no matter how much you wish it. You accept the fact that you did everything you could for the people you loved. You accept that the love you feel for them may never fade, and that that’s okay. But you don’t let that stop you from living. The time has come for you to stop worrying about the world you left behind. The only person you need to take care of right now is **you**. So, before I leave today, you are going to find a therapist, and you’re going to start thinking about what you want to do for a job, because spending all of your days alone up here won’t do you a lick of good.”_

_“I - I don’t know if I can do that.”_

_“They don’t call it a leap of faith for nothing, dear. But don’t you fret. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”_

_“_She helped me pull myself together. I found a therapist – a doctor to talk to, about all of my, uh, negative emotions. She also helped me find a job, and even after I started working, her door was open any time for me, no matter how late it was.” Arya glanced down at her hands, at her interlaced fingers. “I can’t even imagine what I would have – _who_ I would have been, if she wasn’t there.”

“_I’d forgotten how exhausting being an adult was.” Arya sank into the cushioned chair at Eleanor’s small table. _

_“Pfft, nothing is harder than customer service.”_

_“I’m a nurse!”_

_“Even worse. Some people.” Eleanor tutted. “You should have seen Gerry when I took him to get his flu shot. The poor dear, I think he scared off the trainee.”_

_“To be fair, you don’t expect a small old man like him to be able to holler that loudly.”_

_Eleanor chuckled and then sat at the table, giving Arya an appraising look. “You’re doing okay though? I could have sworn I heard the sound of a glass breaking late last night.”_

_The familiar, gnawing heat griped at Arya’s lungs, and she took a sip of tea to try to dispel the sensation. “There was an advertisement on TV. For a movie. About them.” Her hand started to shake, and she set her teacup down. “I panicked.”_

_“Ahh.” Eleanor nodded thoughtfully. “Well, it’s a good thing Laura’s grandson works at Best Buy. We’ll get you a discount on a new one.”_

_Arya huffed in embarrassment. “Thanks, Eleanor.”_

_Eleanor patted her hand in comfort. “It may not seem like it, but you are doing a wonderful job. I’m very proud of you.”_

_“_Time went on. I worked and I survived. It wasn’t easy, though.”

“_Arya? Arya, what is it?” She heard Eleanor’s voice before Eleanor had even opened her door. Arya could barely see her through the tears streaming down her cheeks._

_“I’ve made a horrible mistake.”_

_Frowning in concern, Eleanor waved Arya in and shooed her over to the couch. “What’s happened?”_

_“I - I got a tattoo.”_

_“Oh.” Now Eleanor’s frown was one of confusion. “Is it indecent?”_

_“No, no, it’s -” Arya lifted up her shirt to reveal a bunch of baby blue forget-me-nots tattooed onto her ribcage._

_“Oh, that’s lovely! It won’t be easy to show off, though.”_

_“I got forget-me-nots.”_

_“Yes, your favorite flowers.”_

_“I got fourteen.” Arya dropped her shirt and raised her teary eyes to meet Eleanor’s. “I told him his eyes were the same color.”_

_“Oh. OH. Then why did you -”_

_“I thought I would be okay.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, her right hand resting on top of the plastic wrap. “But I’m not okay.”_

_“Oh, my dear,” Eleanor tutted, reaching over and pulling Arya into her side. “It is perfectly okay to not be okay.”_

_“What if I’m never okay again?”_

_“You will be, my dear. You will be.”_

_“_But I kept going to therapy, going to work. I got into a routine, and everything eventually started to, uh, hurt less. There’d be moments where I’d forget, when I was spending time with Eleanor and the cats or Charlie – uh, sorry, one of my healing patients – but,” Arya broke off to swallow the lump that was rising in her throat. “Something always reminded me.”

“Reminded you of what?”

_She was looking forward to the day when she stopped jumping at the sight of every dark-haired and dark-bearded man that she stumbled across. She was looking forward to not feeling that stabbing sensation in her lungs every time she saw someone with blue eyes. She was looking forward to not constantly tearing up at the sight of the tattoo now decorating her body. And most of all, she was looking forward to the day when his eyes didn’t haunt her every waking moment, when the memory of his touch stopped burning, when she no longer had to watch him die in her dreams, or, (and sometimes she felt like this particular dream was worse), watch the love in his eyes be replaced with hate, and this time when he tossed her from the gate, he succeeded, and she would fall into the dark and awake in the night, crying and cold and completely and hopelessly alone._

_“_Of you. Obviously.” Arya nudged Bilbo with her arm.

“Oh, well, of course,” he replied, although even he didn’t sound convinced by her that time. “That’s all well and good to, uh, know, but how did you manage to return?”

“I got your letter.”

“_Do you think it’s real?”_

_Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s real.” Her eyes went back to scanning the parchment, and after it appeared she’d read it once, twice, maybe even three times, before finally setting it down on the table._

_“Well. You’re going, aren’t you?”_

_“I have to,” Arya whispered._

_“Well, you technically don’t ‘have’ to do anything.”_

_“Eleanor -” Arya sighed, feeling herself tear up._

_“No, I know, my dear. I know.” Eleanor’s smile was resigned. “I will miss you.”_

_“I’ll - I’ll miss you too, so much -”_

_“Now, now, there's no time for any of that. Come. Let’s get you packed.”_

_“_And then I was standing in front of Erebor and yelling at the Elvenking.”

“Indeed,” Bilbo said, glancing over at Tauriel with an expression Arya could not decipher. “Well, it is good to know the, uh, general facts, although I do have the feeling you haven’t told us everything.”

Arya smiled ruefully. “I don’t know if I want to talk about everything.”

“Well, if you ever do, I am here for you.”

“We both are,” Tauriel added in, the first words she had spoken since Arya had started telling her story. “But for now, I believe it is best for you to get some more rest.”

Arya frowned. “I only woke up twenty minutes ago -”

“And you had a rather upsetting day, if not a rather upsetting few years. You go lay down and rest!” Bilbo scolded, leaping to his feet. “Come now, hop to it!”

“Yes, Bilbo.” Arya sighed. She laid back down, Binx gathered in her arms, and wished Bilbo a murmured “good night” as he tucked her blanket back up around her shoulders.

/////

“What do you make of that?”

Bilbo and Tauriel had made their way from Arya’s room in silence, heading to the outdoor courtyard at the center of Bard’s surprisingly large home. They’d been silent the whole way, each lost in thought, and it was only after Bilbo had been smoking on his pipe for around ten minutes that he finally spoke.

“She was in great pain. I believe she still is.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“Why?” Tauriel turned to look at him.

Bilbo exhaled, the smoke escaping through his lips and dissolving into the night air. “Because that’s what I gathered too.” He shook his head. “And now what are we to do?”

“Get some rest,” Tauriel replied. “Worry about the rest tomorrow.”

Bilbo frowned. “Isn’t that what her friend -”

“It is sound advice.”

“Yes. Yes, I believe it is. Well, then. Until tomorrow. May it bring us happier tidings.”

Tauriel nodded solemnly at Bilbo in lieu of a reply, and the two newly-formed allies went their separate ways, Bilbo to his guest room, and Tauriel to her solemn watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually HELLA proud of this chapter. It took a very long time, and lots of listening to "My Tears Ricochet" off of folklore, but I feel like I've managed to hit a happy medium with where Arya is. She's hurt and conflicted, obviously, but at the end of the day she loves Bilbo and her dwarves (cough cough Thorin). Let me know what you all think, and here's to finally getting to that dang peace treaty!

**Author's Note:**

> AND SO IT BEGINS. FINALLY. DEAR GOD THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE. And unlike the first time, I don't have it all completed, so this will be updated sporadically (like my other works) for the foreseeable future. But to those who have loved "Unexpected," thank you so much! And to those of you who love Thorin Oakenshield, well, this one's for you :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Banished Hero (an Unexpected-verse fanart)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27019324) by [Mems1223](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mems1223/pseuds/Mems1223)


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